Mirror Effect
by MizDirected
Summary: Garrus Vakarian, colonist, sole survivor, and the hierarchy's first Spectre has only ever wanted to avenge his family. C-Sec Investigator Shepard just wants to escape what's expected and find adventure. To stop a once heroic, human Spectre from destroying everything, these two will have to unite an unlikely group of heroes to face a consuming darkness. AU/CD with all races swapped.
1. Chapter 1

This chapter relies heavily on the game dialogue and text to which I claim no ownership. They are borrowed from the good people at Bioware who really should be paying my therapist bills for the obsession they have spawned within me. :D Yay Bioware!

* * *

"Well, what about Vakarian? He grew up in the colonies," a voice Garrus recognized as the turian ambassador, Sparatus, said. Garrus laughed, dry and low, surprised to hear Sparatus mention his name at all. They'd never exactly gotten along, the ambassador considering Garrus a poor example of turian honour.

"He knows how tough life can be out there," Garrus's mentor, Captain Saren Arterius, added. That recommendation didn't surprise him. "His parents were killed when slavers attacked Invictus."

Commander Garrus Vakarian stared out the viewport at the planet spinning below, using the view to distract himself from the memory of the worst day of his life. Palaven. Beautiful, but foreign despite his having spent a couple of years there at The Villa during ICT.

"He saw his whole unit die on Oma Ker," General Adrien Victus said, his tone dubious. "He could have some serious emotional scars."

Oh, nice, the second worst day of his life.

"Every soldier has scars, Victus," Saren argued, his words resolute, dropped like bricks into a deep pond. "Vakarian's a survivor."

Garrus glanced over his shoulder toward the conference room door, wincing a little as the conversation going on within left him feeling naked and exposed. Probably not the best of days to be overly punctual. His appointment with Captain Arterius hadn't been scheduled for another half hour.

Sparatus chuffed, a harsh rumble of sub-vocals layered beneath it. "Is that the sort of person we want protecting the galaxy?"

Garrus frowned. Protect the galaxy?

"That's the only sort of person who can protect the galaxy." Saren's tone painted a vivid picture as he replied, allowing Garrus to form a detailed image in his mind—one brow plate cocked, mandibles raised and tight, arms slammed down like gates over his chest.

"I'll make the call." Sparatus sounded as though he'd rather do anything else, but then the door opened.

"Vakarian!" The captain stepped halfway over the threshold, starting a bit when he spotted Garrus. "How long have you been standing out here?"

Garrus shrugged, his mandibles dropping a little. "Ten minutes?"

Saren chuckled. "Not the best day to be overly punctual." He shrugged and took a deep breath. "Well, too late to worry about it now. Get yourself to the _Normandy_ , Vakarian. We're on our way to Aephus, give the new boat a decent shakedown."

"Sir?" Garrus hesitated for a second, then thumped his knuckles against his chest in a turian salute. "Yes, sir."

When the door closed behind his mentor, Garrus turned back to take one last look out the port at the planet his race called home, then strode for his cabin to put together his kit. Three major players in the hierarchy didn't meet to discuss the candidates for a new frigate's XO, no matter how special and classified it might be.

Dread burrowed beneath his plates like a nest of netichiks; something big loomed on the horizon … something big but nothing good.

 _In the year 2148, explorers on Impera, discovered the remains of an ancient, spacefaring civilization. In the decades that followed, these mysterious artifacts revealed startling new technologies, enabling travel to the furthest stars. The basis for this incredible technology was a force that controlled the very fabric of space and time._

 _They called it the greatest discovery in turian history._

 _The civilizations of the galaxy call it …_

 _Mass Effect._


	2. Chapter 2

**Torin** \- Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

 **Tarin** \- Tarini plural. Female turian of the age of majority (15)

 **Armiliteria** \- The most popular board game amongst turians. Military strategy game.

 **Amiala** \- Grandmother (Familiar form **Ama** )

 **Famila notas** \- The colony markings that turians wear on their faces.

 **Brekna** \- Four-legged, beetle-like insects with a solid carapace and no wings. They are the size of a golf ball and are jet black in colour.

 **Golus** \- Slang for male genitalia.

 **Scurra** \- A joker. Someone who doesn't take things seriously. Negative connotations of being disrespectful or inappropriate as compared to **jocsa** which leans toward entertaining and amusing.

 **Ungentira** \- A large warm blooded, cat-like predator native to the high mountains of Palaven. They are ferocious predators, silent and nearly invisible within their element, and known for frequently taking on prey three or four times their size, which is approximately the same as a labrador retriever.

 **Obluvis** \- One who is senile or absent-minded. Slang: Idiot

 **Stulti mendur** \- Literal: foolish lies. Slang: Bullshit. Short form: Stulti

 **Buratrum (Pits of Buratrum)** \- Turian version of hell. The realm where dwell the spirits of dishonourable association. Also referred to as simply the pits.

(A-N: There will be a lot of turian vernacular in the Garrus POV portions (which will be most of the story). Contact me by PM if you would like access to my turian language and other info compendium as I believe publishing it is against the FFN ToS.)

* * *

Garrus strode down the length of the CIC, nodding to Navigator Oraka as he passed the older _torin_. Spirits, the hierarchy certainly hadn't hesitated to call in their best, most storied officers. Oraka's service record alone included more than a dozen major campaigns and more commendations than Garrus could count.

He answered greetings with nods as he passed by, more than a little aware of the weight of the N7 designation on his chest. If all the pictures in the media about the lone orphan pulled off Invictus hadn't been bad enough, being the lone survivor of Oma Ker had ensured he couldn't travel anywhere in hierarchy space without being noticed. Fame did not sit easily with him, no matter how much Ambassador Sparatus tried to wrap it in a neat package of serving as an inspiration to his people.

"It's weird having a human aboard," a voice said from the bridge, the words coming out in a rumbled hiss. "Have you met him?"

Garrus's mandibles flicked, and he shook his head as the question carried easily down the length of the CIC. Discretion definitely didn't rank foremost among Flight Lt. Rolan ' _Scurra_ ' Quarn's attributes. Glancing behind him to see if the universe conformed to type, he spotted the Spectre stepping around a rigidly polite Oraka, and grinned. Some things could just be counted on.

"Yeah, he seemed okay," came the reply from the gunnery station. Lt. Cmdr. Nihlus Kryik shrugged as Garrus entered the bridge. "He sat down and played _armiliteria_ with us for a couple hours last night, anyway." The _torin_ glanced back at Garrus and gave him a rushed salute. "How about you, Commander? What do you think of Spectre Alenko?"

Garrus straightened, his hands clasped behind his back. "I think he's probably reached the ramp by now, so you should focus on your duties instead of gossiping like a couple of old _amas_."

Scurra chuffed and arched his neck, his mandibles flicking hard. "I don't care if he hears me. It doesn't make any sense to have a human Spectre on a prototype turian frigate." His talons flew over the screens as he eased the _Normandy_ onto an approach vector to the relay. "If this is really just a shakedown … what's the point?" He glanced back at Garrus, one brow plate lifting toward his crest. "Well, sir?"

"You'll care if Captain Arterius hears you." As to the other, Garrus shrugged. He didn't understand the human's presence either, but he wasn't dumb enough to say so. He looked over at the Spectre and nodded as the dark-haired human stepped up next to him. "Good morning, Spectre. Lt. Quarn's just bringing us into the relay now."

The human smiled, his whole face moving with it, even the hide around his eyes crinkling. Garrus barely controlled the urge to stare, fascinated. Even as an N7, most of his assignments took place in turian space, his exposure to humans limited to passing them by on the Citadel. He'd once been arrested by a human C-Sec officer, but that man possessed a face like a brick. It might have shattered if he'd smiled.

"We are connected. Calculating transit mass and destination," Scurra reported, his tone switching from belligerent to professional. "Relay is hot. Lining up on approach vector. All personnel, secure your stations for transit, supervisors to your sections."

Garrus blocked out the business of sending the nimble little frigate through the relay, focusing instead on the brilliant blue energy that appeared to pulse at the core of the giant machine. Although he couldn't see them, he knew that the twin rings spun, one inside the other, preparing to launch the vessel into a corridor of almost nil mass that would deposit them near Aephus, one of the hierarchy's oldest and most important colonies.

"Hitting the relay in three … two … one." Blue lightning engulfed the ship, a brilliant flash of light followed the pilot's countdown, Garrus felt an almost imperceptible tug, and then black space and a distant sun showed in the view ports.

Garrus policed his big, stupid grin. Jumping through relays never got old.

"All systems on-line, internal emission sinks engaged. Drift, just under fifteen hundred klicks," Quarn said, his neck arching again. He could be such a self-congratulating _golus_.

"Good job, Flight Lieutenant. Fifteen hundred klicks is impressive," Alenko said and turned to leave the bridge. "Captain Arterius will be pleased." Since the human arrived only a moment before they hit the relay, Garrus wondered if he just wanted to have a first rate view for the jump. They might have something in common after all.

"Seriously?" the pilot grumbled after a couple of seconds. "Good job, little turian, you jumped us across the galaxy and bullseyed a _brekna_ ," he mimicked, flattening all the subvocals from his voice. "Captain Arterius will be happy." He chuffed and cleared his throat, a hasty glance over his shoulder his only concession to decorum. "Spectres are trouble, especially human ones. I don't like having him on board. Call me paranoid."

"You're not paranoid, you're being xenophobic, so get over it before Arterius hears you and you end up scraping out the recycler bins." Kryik sighed, showing remarkable patience. Garrus knew he wouldn't have lasted half as long in the seat next to the sarcastic pilot's bladed sense of humour. "The council helped pay for this ship, and humans helped design it, so they have the right to be here. Besides, Alenko gave you a compliment, Scurra, and it's probably the only one you'll hear this mission." Kryik shifted in his seat, the leather material whispering beneath his armor. He shook his head, his white _familia notas_ gleaming gold in the light from his console. "Just shut up and take what you can get."

The pilot flicked his mandibles at Kryik. "This entire mission stinks like the pits, Nihlus, even you have to admit—"

" _Scurra!"_ The captain's voice called through the intercom, deep and more raspy than a cactus thicket. "Report!"

Garrus hid a smile behind his hand as Scurra snapped straight in his chair. Saren had that effect on people. Even after all the cycles Garrus had known the captain, he couldn't claim to be completely immune.

"The _Normandy_ has cleared the relay." Scurra's talons skated over his console, checking the systems a second time. "Internal heat emission sinks are active: we're an _ungentira_ in the forest, sir."

"Good. Link us into the comm network, and ensure mission reports are transmitted as per _alphus pria_ protocols beginning thirty minutes prior to Aephus orbit."

"Yes, sir, _alphus pria_ acknowledged, sir." Quarn shot an 'I told you so' glare over his shoulder at Nihlus. "And you might want to guard your spurs, sir. Alenko is headed your way."

"He walked in thirty seconds ago, Flight Lieutenant." The way the captain said Quarn's rank sounded more like a question than a fact. "I assume Vakarian was hanging over your shoulder for the jump?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Have him meet me in the comm room."

When the intercom channel went dead, Garrus sighed. "Excellent. You've pissed him off."

Quarn chuffed. "Arterius always sounds like that."

"Only with you, Scurra," Nihlus replied. He glanced back at Garrus. "We going groundside on Aephus, sir?"

Garrus spun on his talons and strode for the stern. "We'll soon find out, LT. Just be ready to grab your helmet and weapons."

"Ready and waiting."

Oraka cleared his throat as Garrus passed, a subtle ask that the commander acknowledged with an equally subtle refusal. No time to stand around guessing why the human Spectre dared defile their new prototype. And, even if he could spare the time, he found his patience for the topic wearing thin.

Two more curious onlookers waited at the bulkhead that separated the comm room from the rest of the CIC.

"I'm telling you, Doc," the greenest private Garrus had ever witnessed, Jennus, was saying, "I grew up on Aephus. It's the boring backend of the galaxy: the sort of place Spectres avoid unless they need to spend a week or two in a coma." He rumbled low in his throat. "A Spectre like Alenko? No! He's all pirates and gunrunners and taking down entire slaving operations single-handed. Something weird is going on."

Garrus bit down on a chuckle and paused on the other side of the blind to hear the doctor's answer.

"You spend way too much time with your face too close to a vid screen, Private," Dr. Chellick replied. "All those explosions have fried your brain." A heavy rumble of subvocals declared an end to the discussion. "You think Saren Arterius is going to let a Spectre—a human—call the shots? Not likely."

Garrus pushed on through the comm room door. If he remembered his mission briefs correctly, Saren and Chellick had served together a time or two.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Garrus stumbled to a halt. Alenko stood alone in front of a large vid screen displaying the hierarchy's PR reel for Aephus. The camera swept over one of the shipyards, a sunset painting the sky lavender in the background. He smothered a laugh. Nice. Aephus was a pretty planet, but he didn't recall the shipyards appearing quite so romantic.

The Spectre turned to face Garrus and smiled. "Commander Vakarian, glad you got here first. We haven't had a chance to talk since I came aboard." The human's brown eyes held a warm sort of humour that made Garrus wonder why everyone was working themselves up into such a frenzy over his presence. He seemed more than capable, and his armour bore a respectable number of scars, but Kaidan Alenko's demeanor seemed more in line with a diplomat than a rogue agent.

Garrus walked down to the floor of the room and stood at parade rest, one brow plate betraying him as it lifted. "What do you want to to talk about?" He watched the Spectre, trying to dig beneath the persona from the news to see what the man was about. He knew the man possessed biotics, something so new to turians that they regarded their own biotics with suspicion. They seemed a useful tool to Garrus. The cabalists he'd worked with had performed competently, their dedication to their duty absolute, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

"This colony world we're going to, Aephus. The hierarchy holds it up as a bastion of what your people are capable of achieving out here." He stepped closer, those eyes feeling as if they could see right through Garrus's plates, their stare weighing his worth or potential … maybe both. "But, I'm not sure a people of such rigid tradition are prepared for just how dark and chaotic the galaxy can be."

Garrus's mandibles spread and flicked hard before he reined them in. "Trust me," he said, his subvocals smouldering, "I'm aware of the galaxy's penchant for cruelty. Aephus is a beautiful world, and the shipyards there are amongst the most important in turian space." He found himself arching his neck as he spoke, but allowed himself that pride in what his people had achieved. For a people who had discovered Mass Effect technology only a handful of decades before, they'd taken huge strides out into the galaxy.

Alenko smiled and nodded. He leaned back on one hip and crossed his arms, the gesture casual rather than defensive. "That's what the PR reel said, but how well defended is it, really?" He straightened. "I'm sorry to bring this up, but the asari and their batarians devastated Invictus. The colony there has never really recovered." He turned and looked to the screen. "If the ardat yakshi gangs turned their eyes to Aephus, could the colony's garrison truly hold them off?"

Garrus took a deep breath, unwilling to let the Spectre see the ice building up in his veins at the mention of his home colony. He couldn't expect Alenko to understand what it meant to watch as ardat yakshi slavers slaked their unquenchable thirsts on anyone too old to be considered a useful slave, including his parents. To hide, trembling and frozen, as the asari set their batarian thralls to the task of implanting screaming children with control devices.

His jaw crunched, sending his teeth screeching together, under the pressure of his restraint. The last he'd seen of his sister, she'd been shoved into a cage, cobalt blood streaming down her neck. He met Alenko's stare and scowled at the understanding he saw there. Maybe the human did understand, at least a little. After all, his species had nearly been wiped out saving the galaxy's neck from the ardat yakshi during the Nightwind Rebellion. After only fourteen hundred cycles, horrific tales must still be told.

The comm room door whispered open, Captain Arterius's footsteps providing a very welcome reprieve. "I think we should bring the Commander up to speed," Saren called, "don't you, Alenko?"

The Spectre nodded and stepped closer to Garrus, his expression shuttered where it had been open the moment before. "While working on expanding the shipyard complex, workers on Aephus dug up a Prothean beacon." He smiled in response to Garrus's sharp intake of breath. "Exactly. We're on our way to pick it up and take it to the Citadel for study."

A Prothean beacon? The implications set Garrus's heart racing. The last time his people had discovered Prothean technology, their civilization had jumped forward thousands of cycles in a decade. More tech … who knew what it might reveal? He met Saren's eyes and then turned to Alenko and nodded.

"Glad to have you along, in that case. There are a lot of factions out there that would love to get their hands on Prothean tech." He straightened and turned back to his captain and mentor. "So, we're taking a team groundside to pick it up?"

Saren's mandibles gave the barest of flicks as he nodded. He reached out to grip Garrus's pauldron. "The beacon isn't the only reason that Spectre Alenko is aboard, Vakarian."

Garrus glanced back and forth between them, one brow plate climbing higher with each pass. They seemed to be waiting for the other one to dump the _drellek_ fat.

Saren broke first. "Spectre Alenko put forward your name as a Spectre candidate." The captain drew himself tall, neck arched. "Congratulations, I _know_ you'll do us proud."

"A Spectre?" Garrus chuffed a little on the captain's emphasis in that sentence. One of the galaxy's elite warriors … right hand of the council. To be the first turian to step into that august company … frankly, terror warred with pride and gratitude. His entire race would look to him to lead the way. A wave of dizziness washed over him. Spirits, was he ready for that much responsibility?

"Aephus is just the first of several missions we'll be tackling together," Alenko confirmed. "I have high hopes your candidacy will be successful. Your service record is exemplary, barring a few disciplinary issues. As well, the fact you kept your head and managed to drive off the thresher maws on Oma Ker despite your injuries … well, that's the sort of grit and determination we're looking for in the Spectres."

The human grinned and shifted a little, casual becoming guarded. "We've been reluctant to bring the turians into the Spectres … too rigid … too much clinging to tradition and dependency on rules, but your career also shows a certain disregard for convention that we find promising."

Garrus chuckled and cast a slightly guilty glance at his captain. "I'm not sure that's what the hierarchy calls it, but thank you for the recommendation." His shoulders rolled in a slight shrug. "I admit, I'm surprised that you'd recommend a turian."

Alenko's smile bled away, and he straightened to parade rest. "I don't care that you're turian, Commander. I just care that you can do the job."

"I'll do my—"

"Captain," Scurra broke in, cutting Garrus off, "we've got a distress call coming in from Aephus."

"Put it through," Saren ordered, stepping around Garrus to look up at the vid screen.

The image flipped from serene twilight to absolute chaos. A line of soldiers fought backwards, guns tearing into a foe that didn't show on the screen. Something hit the soldier doing the filming and dirt filled the picture for a moment before a tarin's face appeared.

"Get up! Come on." She hauled the photographer up and the picture swayed back and forth enough to make Garrus turn away, his stomach threatening to rebel. "... under attack … taking heavy casualties … need evac … ."

The noise of gunfire stalled for a second, replaced by a deafening cacophony … like the roar of a dreadnought struggling out of the deep atmosphere, but so much louder, and laced with a shrill, threatening scream layered that tore at Garrus's sanity with jagged hooks.

"Spirits." Saren's voice dragged Garrus back to the vid, the captain's subvocals thin with confusion, anger, and … an uncharacteristic fear. "What in the name of _buratrum_ is that?"

Garrus stared at the screen, the image rolling and shaky as the soldiers retreated, fighting like hell all the way. Now and again, the camera looked up at a massive ship … he figured it had to be a ship despite only being able to see what looked like five massive, jointed talons … or legs? He truly couldn't put together what in the pits he was looking at. Were they even metal? They looked organic, almost chitinous.

The picture turned to static, Garrus's gut clenching at the probable reason why. He looked toward Alenko in time to see the Spectre swallow hard, almost choking, his expression just as bewildered as Garrus felt.

"All comm traffic from Aephus died right after that, Captain," Scurra reported. "There's nothing. Their comms must be jammed."

Saren nodded. "Scurra, rewind and hold at 38.5." Rigid and controlled, he stepped toward the screen as the picture returned to the image of that giant … hand? The captain let out a long breath, his neck arching, his mandibles pulling tight … the warrior girding himself for battle.

"A small squad is our best chance to get in and secure the beacon," Alenko said, rolling his shoulders as if settling his armour. Garrus almost smiled at the similarity between the two experienced soldiers facing the unknown.

"Indeed," the captain agreed. "Scurra, get us in there, fast and silent." Saren looked to Garrus before the pilot could answer. "Commander, grab Nihlus and Jennus, and be ready to drop in twenty."

Garrus nodded and cast one last glance at the screen before following Alenko from the comm room. A single crook of his talon saw Jennus falling in on his eight, practically skipping with excitement. He opened his mouth a couple of times to tell the kid to settle down, but knew it wouldn't do any good.

Ten minutes later, his small team arrived at the top of the Normandy's ramp. Alenko stood a few metres away, checking his weapons, and probably not the first time. Garrus had checked his assault and sniper rifles four times in ten minutes.

"Spectre Alenko," Jennus called, "you're coming with us?" The kid vibrated next to Garrus, settling a touch when Nihlus thumped a hand down on his shoulder.

"I move faster on my own, kid," Alenko replied, flashing a toothy but friendly smile, "but I'm counting on you to have my six." He hung up his pistol and reached back, shrugging his assault rifle into his hands.

Jennus saluted, knuckles to keel. "Yes, sir. We'll keep them off you, sir."

"Coming up on drop point one, now," Scurra reported over the intercom.

The Spectre's words finally registered through the thundering of Garrus's heartbeat and the million thoughts fighting for control of his brain. "Wait, you're going in alone?" He took a step toward the Spectre. Going in alone against an unknown enemy seemed insanely risky. No, it _was_ insanely risky. One man, no matter how skilled, could be easily surrounded or ambushed.

"You heard the Spectre, Vakarian," Saren said, striding toward them from the elevator. "Spectre Alenko is going to scout ahead, and send back reports. You're the muscle. You'll hit the ground and head straight for the dig site. I expect you to have Alenko's back and secure that beacon."

Garrus bristled. The voice inside his head insisted on obedience, but the alarm sinking its talons into his spine told him that nothing good would come of Alenko going out alone. "Captain!" Damn. He winced as the alarm won. "We'd be able to watch his back a whole lot easier if we could see it."

"You have your orders, Commander," Saren said, his subvocals carrying a heavy dose of warning. The captain grabbed Garrus by the cowl of his armour and pulled him close, his mandible flicking hard against the side of Garrus's face as he spoke. "Look, Vakarian. I know you've always held an unhealthy scorn for the way things are done. You've always thought you know better than your superiors, and part of that is my fault for not slapping you back harder in the beginning."

Garrus tried to pull away, denial balled up in his throat, heavy and choked. He didn't deny that he considered most bureaucracy and many of the rules and procedures to be complete _stulti_ , but it was hardly the captain's fault. "Captain … !"

"Stop talking." The order rumbled between them, more subvocal than anything. "Do yourself a favour, and run the mission as Alenko calls it. Once you're a Spectre, you can make your own rules." He pulled back to stare into Garrus's eyes. "Until then, do the job and obey orders. Do not screw this up." Something behind the captain's stare, the shades of mistakes known, tugged at Garrus's spurs.

The commander nodded, a dank, foggy chill settling inside his armour. "Yes, sir. We'll have his back."

"Last call for drop point one," Scurra called, the sly edge sliding along beneath the words. "Anyone getting off this boat, or are we just going to turn around and head home?"

"See you on the surface," Alenko called and jogged to the end of the ramp, jumping nimbly through the barrier to float to the ground, a biotic field slowing his descent.

"Spirits, that's so cool!" Jennus cried, running to the edge of the ramp. "If it didn't mean getting sent to the cabals, I'd so throw myself into an eezo core."

Garrus laughed despite himself. "That might be going a bit far, kid. Just check your weapons and calm down. We're dropping in a couple of seconds." He took a deep breath, staring down at the sweep of plant life below, settling his own nerves and quieting his mind. He was an N7 operative for the turian hierarchy, and for whatever the reason, the council thought him worthy of the chance to be a Spectre.

 _Just another mission, Vakarian. Just another mission._

"Coming up on drop point two," Scurra called.

Saren gave Garrus a quick salute. "The mission's yours now, Vakarian. Don't screw it up."

Garrus chuffed as he prepared to leap down. Never had he been sent out with more inspiring words. "Don't screw it up," he muttered under his breath, and then jumped.

* * *

(A-N: Hope this wasn't so much like the game that everyone fell asleep. I see things gradually skewing off centre as the turian crew of the Normandy (yes, I'll explain why it's still called the Normandy) faces the challenges of defeating the incoming enemy. I'm having a blast writing it, so hopefully, that will translate.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Aligarim Dau** \- Giant four winged bird from ancient turian mythology which was said to have stolen the seed of life from the Creator of All Things. Upon the seed of life was inscribed The Fate of All Things, the story of the universe from birth to death, inlaid in magnificent stones, gems, and metals.

 **Tarc** \- Turian equivalent of shit

 **Buratrum** \- Turian equivalent of hell. The realm of spirits of dishonourable association.

 **COB** \- Chief of the Boat. Liaison between the officers and the crew.

 **Aephus** 5381:04:21: **32:19:09**

"Jennus, move up into cover," Garrus ordered, keeping his tone light and his volume to a whisper. He gestured toward a slab of rock jutting out of the uneven ground.

"Turians don't take cover, sir," Jennus shot back, a sharp, amused chuff punctuating his words. Still, he moved forward in a half-crouch, head down, dashing from boulder to boulder.

"They do unless they want their heads shot off. Fight smart, keep your eyes ahead and your mind focused on the mission. We're turian." Garrus waited for Jennus to reach his position, then sent Nihlus forward to a position directly ahead of the private. "Keep a weather-eye, LT. Something's off. We're being watched."

Nihlus responded with a sharp nod as he sprinted past, quick and low to the ground. "All these bodies didn't kill themselves." The lieutenant commander took standing cover behind a large boulder at the corner of the road, peered out, then waved Garrus forward. "I'm hearing some strange sounds ahead, Commander. Organic." The torin paused, and Garrus saw him entering commands into his omnitool. "There's no trace of tech at all in the signal."

Garrus winced at the sharp, superstitious terror in his COB's subvocals. Kryik had a rock solid reputation for being unflappable, a bit of a rebel but unflappable. "Relax, LT. No tech? Must be something wrong with your scans." He squinted a little, zooming in on the road ahead, checking for enemy presence. It looked clear. "Next you're going to tell me Aephus is under attack by monsters cooked up by the organic-purity, turian-supremacy nutjobs at Praellus." He grinned when they both chuckled, glad to see some of their tension drain away. "Moving up on the left to take cover on the LT's eleven."

They both replied with a quick, "Aye, sir."

"Sir, blips coming up the road fast." Nihlus's whisper caught Garrus halfway to his last cover.

"What in the name of _buratrum_ are those?" Jennus called a moment later. The youngster stood up behind his cover and couched his rifle.

"Get down!" Garrus spun, his booted talons digging furrows on the ground as he launched himself at Jennus. Before the commander covered half the distance, the flying drone creature spat a furious volley of rounds. Garrus saw a round impact Jennus's shoulder, the world falling into a terrible sort of slow motion as the kid fell, screaming. The creatures turned their sights on Garrus, a triple volley of rounds peppering the road, the things trying to get his range as he sprinted across open ground. He dove behind Jennus's cover, rolling into a breathless crouch, his back pressed to the rock.

Auto-target guided his rifle into position, couched in his shoulder, the sensor web between his rifle, body, and brain homing in on the first of the creatures. Three shots took it down. The second fell before the onslaught of the lieutenant's assault rifle a second later. Garrus's target software registered the kill on the third, his round landing two tenths of a second before Nihlus's.

"Watch the road," Garrus called, hanging up his rifle and looking to his fallen squad member. A glob of thick, sticky green acid covered Jennus's shoulder, the kid's armour already eaten through at the center to reveal a grisly burn.

"Commander?" The kid gasped, talons reaching up to paw at the wound. Sweat beaded along his neck. Dancing along the border of hyperventilating, the kid writhed, his good hand clawing at the soil. "Don't lie to me, sir. How bad is it? It feels like something ripped my arm off."

Garrus grinned at the melodrama. "It's not that bad. Your system repair nanites are already at work." He grabbed the kid's wrist and gave him a shot of medigel to speed the process. "Okay, hold on, Jennus, let me spray some decon-nites on the acid, and you'll be ready to go." Garrus dug into his pack, pulling out the cannister. Thirty seconds after he sprayed Jennus's armour, the industrial waste removal nanites finished consuming all the acid and disintegrated into dust.

Standing, Garrus held out a hand and nodded toward the trail. Despite the heavy clouds of smoke and pessimism hanging low overhead, he forced a grin to meet the first small victory of the day. "Ready to get moving, Private?"

Jennus gripped Garrus's wrist and pulled himself up. "Yes, sir. Ready to kick with the spur, sir."

Garrus glanced over at Nihlus, the older _torin_ nodding and taking up drag without needing to be asked. Once Jennus settled between them, Garrus headed out, taking up a solid, but wary jog. Time weighed heavily, each second that passed adding to his dread. Time and the beacon were getting away from them. He sped up a little, but glanced back to make sure Jennus could handle the pace.

"Just reached the main dig site," the human Spectre's voice said over the mission channel. "There are a whole lot of bodies. God, whoever came through here … ." He seemed to realize that he was bemoaning the fate of innocent turians to yet more turians, and the words died out. "There's a small space port ahead. I'll meet up with you there."

"Understood," Garrus replied, even though he wanted to tell the human to stop being an ass and wait for them there. He opened his mouth to say so, but then more of the strange flying larva appeared on his HUD. Now that they knew what to expect, they quickly dispatched the small squad of organic drones, and moved out.

They didn't make twenty metres down the road when the sound of gunfire … actual gunfire rather than the strange splooching sound of the drones' acid rounds. Garrus sent Kryik and the kid into cover behind massive trees, then ran forward to get eyes on. Keeping low, he moved from cover to cover. Ducking behind the last tree trunk before a wide, cleared area, he looked out, ocular implants quickly tagging four enemy targets and one friendly. Turian and female, she hunkered down behind cover, chest heaving as she caught her breath. After three seconds, she leaned out, sending an overload arcing between the two closest enemies, then bolted straight for Garrus's position.

He added his overload to hers, paralyzing both enemies long enough for his sniper rifle to put bullets through their helmets. The third blip peppered the _tarin's_ back with rounds, knocking her onto her face. Garrus ran out to haul her to her feet, but she rolled over and pulled an old, human assault rifle. Leaving her to exact her revenge, he cleared out the fourth enemy, then scanned the field.

"Clear," he called, dropping his rifle into one hand, the other reaching out for the _tarin's_. When her talons locked around his wrist, he hauled her up. "You all right, soldier?"

The _tarin_ saluted as she replied, "Yes, sir. Just a few scratches and bumps. Cabalist Nyreen Kandros with the 212. I'm glad you came along when you did, Commander. I've been fighting and running for … " She shook her head and paused to check her ancient rifle. "... I don't know how long. The attack started in the early hours of the morning. My unit was scouting the colony perimeter when these … creatures … just started dropping from ships that … well, I've never seen anything like them, sir."

Garrus spared a glance for Jennus and Kryik as they took positions on his flank, but his mind remained on the enemy. Leading the way, he motioned for Kandros to fall in. "What have you been fighting, Cabalist?"

She sniffed and swiped the back of her hand across a slow leaking furrow in her brow plate, smearing the blue across the bright red, vertical mark of her _familia notas_ up the center of her face. "I think they're lystheni, sir." A shrug bled into her nod as she stared down his disbelief. "I know, they haven't been seen outside the Annos Basin in over three hundred cycles, but they look like vids of the ancient salarians."

Garrus took a deep breath and nodded, a firm double shake of his head accepting what she'd told him. Moving forward, he waved for her to fall in on his right flank. "Kryik, you're on drag," he said, trusting his people to look to their duties.

Stopping next to one of the dead, he pulled the helmet from its head. Damn, they did look salarian, at least what the salarians used to be before the Twilight War and the salarians' forced exodus. Okay, it didn't matter. Time to alert Alenko, and then get to the damned dig site. "Kandros, can you lead us to the dig site? We need to secure the beacon before these bastards get their hands on it."

Jennus shuddered and sidestepped around the body. "Damn, organic purists are freaky."

"Commander!" Nihlus's gasp dragged Garrus's attention away from the abomination lying at his feet, sending it along the line of the LT's pointed finger.

The commander staggered forward a couple of steps, watching in silent horror as three lystheni draped a _torin_ over some sort of tripod. Their victim writhed weakly for a second and then a massive spike punched up through the bottom of his cowl and out the front just above his keel. Cobalt blood poured down.

"Take those bastards out," he shouted, horror turning the words into a muddled retch of sound. He opened fire, his squad quick to react in his wake, the lystheni falling before they even got their hands on weapons.

"What in the name of _buratrum_?" Nihlus whispered as he drifted closer to the still form near the top of the seven metre tall spike. "Why are they doing this?" He stuck out a hand, letting the dead torin's blood drip onto his palm for a second before he clenched it into a fist and spun to face Garrus. "Is it some sort of psychological torture for the rest?"

"They're everywhere," Kandros replied without answering. "I haven't stayed still long enough to know why they're impaled, but … they're everywhere." Her voice cracked, ancient and parched.

Garrus turned his back to the horror and signaled Kandros to move out on point while he lifted a hand to his radio implant. "Spectre Alenko, a heads up," he said into his comms, his rifle settling back into his hands. "We appear to be dealing with lystheni, and they just stuck a _torin_ on some kind of spike."

"Roger that," Alenko replied. "Just took out a small squad of them near the spaceport. There's a lot of spikes along the road. Keep sharp, and thanks for the heads up."

"Roger that. Vakarian out." Ahead of him, the cabalist had stopped to turn a sharp circle, her brow plates pulled low with a level of confusion that sent Garrus's heart splashing down into his guts. "Let me guess. This is where it was?"

She nodded, her talons glowing blue as they shifted uneasily on her weapon. "Maybe the science team moved it to somewhere more secure when the attack started? Maybe they even moved it to the spaceport to have it ready for your team."

Letting out a slow, whistling breath, Garrus nodded. "Lead on."

They climbed a series of ramps up toward the science team's camp, the first prefab just strewn rubble and small gouts of flame leaping out of the grass from broken gas lines. Garrus kept them moving quickly, needing to catch the Spectre. If the lystheni were there in numbers, they'd need all the guns they could get their hands on.

A screeching noise sent sharp, jagged shards of twisted metal grating along Garrus's spine, but he set his jaw. Whatever new nightmares awaited, they'd deal with them.

The nightmares transformed into reality fifteen seconds later in the form of a cry of recognition and horror from Kandros. She bolted forward. "Tulen? Balurr?" Stopping so quickly that her boots slipped on the grass, the _tarin_ threw herself backwards, weapon landing behind her only to be scooped up as she scrambled away from the two … husks … that lumbered toward her.

Garrus stared just long enough to recognize that the creatures couldn't be considered turian any longer, then opened fire. Holes gaped through desiccated flesh where implanted tech once augmented senses, intelligence, muscle, and bone. When Garrus was eight, his class had taken a trip to the Temple of the Winged Host, where worshippers of the _Aligarim Dau_ preserved their bodies after death in the belief that the mythological being would return to carry them to paradise. Those mummified priests, although intact, were the only thing he could come up with to compare the creatures to.

The two husks closed on Kandros as Nihlus yanked her to her feet. The closest opened its mouth and spewed a thick stream of viscous fluid at the cabalist.

"Acid," she called out, her voice tight with pain as some splashed on her, instantly eating through her armour.

Garrus pulled her back further and opened fire. "Nihlus, get decon nanites on her. Jennus, let's take these bastards down." Bullets tore through the dried shell, punching holes through organs that no longer sustained life. And they kept coming.

"What's keeping them going?" Jennus said, his voice a heavy, subvocal yelp of terror. The kid fired two bullets through one's head, but still it lumbered forward.

"Retreat and switch to incendiary ammunition," Garrus ordered even as he pulled a grenade from his belt. He lobbed it, then ducked into cover and triggered it. A second later, chunks of the husks rained down amidst clumps of sod and soil.

"Well, that works," Nihlus said, looking up from where he was treating Kandros.

Keeping his emotions and voice flat, Garrus nodded. "Hopefully so will fire." He slipped the clip of piercing ammunition from his assault rifle, replacing it with the far more volatile incendiary. Sliding the clip into the rear slot, he closed it and looked to the others. "Ready to move out?"

"Ready here," Jennus reported, moving up into point position. Garrus grinned, a crooked flutter of mandibles, when the kid took solid cover where he could watch the road ahead.

Ah, the lessons so quickly taught by battle.

"Kandros, you hanging in there?" he asked, glancing their way even as his instincts pulled him back to the road ahead. They wouldn't get very far without all their fighters at near one hundred percent. The tarin lay draped across Kryik's thigh, head lolling back, eyes rolling in a way that screamed neural damage. Spirits, he hoped it was a hardware issue.

"Just another minute, Commander," Nihlus said, talons flying over the cabalist's exterior neural framework with a deft skill that impressed Garrus. "That acid is stronger than anything I've seen and went right through her shields. Completely dissolved everything it touched. I need to replace the components or she won't be able to navigate or shoot."

"Roger that." Garrus stood and finished climbing the last few metres uphill to a small cluster of prefabs at the crest. "Jennus and I will check for survivors, catch up when you get Kandros back on her feet." He sucked in a long breath, pulling it over his pheromone receptors and mass-spec scanner. Nothing scrolling past in the analysis that appeared on his HUD appeared out of the ordinary. Nothing to account for the acrid tang of warning.

"Jennus, first door," he ordered, moving toward the second. "If you see any medigel or omnigel, grab it." He palmed the door control, but it flashed red. Locked from the inside. A firework of hope exploded in his gut as he banged on the door.

"Hello?" he called. "I'm Commander Garrus Vakarian of the _TSF Normandy_. Is there anyone there?"

"Are you really turian?" a soft voice called from inside.

"Dark! Horrible! Screaming, 'abominations'" A sharp cry broke through the door even as it opened. A small, thin turian in a lab smock burst out through the opening, grabbing Garrus by the cowl. "Unfaithful servants! Abominations." The turian shook Garrus. "They'll kill us all, consume us, and grow monstrous."

"Manuel! Spirits, come back in here." A tarin ran out of the shed, a syringe in hand. "I'm Dr. Warren. Sorry about this," she said, giving the overcome turian an injection. "Manuel is a brilliant scientist, but also a little … unstable." She tugged the turian back away from Garrus. "Go lie down, Manuel, the meds will start working in a few minutes."

The little fellow broke free of her grip, launching himself at Garrus again. "You don't understand! There's nowhere to hide." Garrus caught him by the arms and managed to hold him off, his madness making it no small feat despite the difference in their sizes. "Screams!" Manuel threw himself backwards, clamping his hands over his aural canals. "A flood of screams pouring down through time. All eaten, all corrupted to sate their voracious hunger."

Garrus chuffed, then cleared his throat, stepping back down the ramp just in case Manuel sprang at him again. "Do you know where the Prothean beacon has been moved to?" he asked the female.

She nodded and hooked a thumb talon back over her shoulder, pointing toward the main part of the colony. "They moved it to the spaceport this morning to prepare it for pick up. Unless these things took it, that's where it should be." Brow plates pulled low, mandibles hanging in helpless terror, the tarin stepped down the ramp toward Garrus. "Why, Commander? Why Aephus? We're peaceful farmers and scientists ... no threat to anyone."

He reached out, talons gripping her shoulder. "I believe they came for the beacon." Giving her shoulder a bracing squeeze, he nodded to Jennus, who'd slipped in behind him. "We've got to keep going, but we should have cleared out the enemy behind us. Lock yourself back in, you should be fine."

"No one's going to be fine," Manuel wailed from the trailer's recesses. "Civilization is over, the beast come to destroy us all, his human prophet merely lighting the first fire … singing the first stanza of a _mallupean_ for the entire galaxy."

Hearing Nihlus and Kandros approaching, Garrus turned away from the madness to give the cabalist a once over. "How are you feeling? The LT get you fixed up?"

Kandros wreathed herself in the blue glow of her biotics. "Five by five, sir. Ready to kick these bastards off the planet and drink the rest of you under the table." Her mandibles flicked, and she answered Jennus's chuckle with a wink.

"Then let's get moving or Spectre Alenko will have the beacon aboard the _Normandy_ before we even get there." Garrus started jogging toward the building, still a half-klick in the distance.

"Malice and greed strong enough to rip your soul out through your keel and leave you howling in the blackest madness for eternity!"

Garrus winced and forced a chuckle at Manuel's parting wail. "Need better me… ." The words disappeared from his mind as he crested a second hill and saw it. The thing … the ship … from the distress call. He stared, insensate, for long seconds. A faint green aura—a vortex of energy—swirled around its massive body, crackling like lightning here and there.

It looked … spirits … Garrus flailed, mandibles dropping helplessly as his brain tried to categorize it. What did it look like? He didn't possess an imagination vivid enough to have created anything like whatever it was … some giant, shelled creature straight out of a screaming nightmare or a horror vid? Despite wanting to do nothing more than find the deepest hole and bury himself in it, Garrus forced himself to look, grinding his teeth together and press forward to capture it with his hardsuit recorder. It's not like anyone would believe them if they just described the fucking thing.

Waves of revulsion washed through him, each one heavier, building toward a tsunami of horror great enough to shatter his teeth as he ground them together, then the control he fought to cling to. Still he drove himself toward it. The three legs he'd seen in the distress call stood upon the ground, supporting a body the size of the largest of the hierarchy's dreadnoughts. Several smaller appendages stuck out along the sides, moving as if the thing swam through the air, undulating and sinuous in a way that set his stomach churning. The body split two thirds of the way up, forming two serrated tails that curved in toward one another.

"What in the name of _buratrum_ is that?" Jennus cried, shouting even though the thing made almost no sound, the colony hunkered silent as death within its shadow. Its noise—rage and command and the black hole of its hunger—roared only inside their skulls. The youngster dropped to one knee, trying to hide beneath his arms, to find shelter from an enemy striking from within.

All too intimately entangled with that desire at that moment, Garrus whirled to look back at the trailer. Manuel … . His ravings … not madness … truth.

A deep bellow punched through Garrus's skull, seizing his brain in a tight fist, the talons of which gouged into the soft, fragile matter. His scream lost amidst the wails of his squad, he stumbled, spinning … helpless and dizzy … turning in time to see the monster leap from the ground, launching itself off the surface. The aura around its body growing brighter as it rose into the air. His iron-fisted control breaking, Garrus retreated, the waves of pure malevolence and maddened hunger … battering down his last bastion of resistance.

He kept his stare locked on the massive vessel … creature … maybe some combination of both … until it disappeared. As soon as it vanished, the talons ripping into his mind released him, the pain disappearing so quickly that he collapsed onto his knees, both hands and rifle digging into the turf.

"Alenko to Vakarian, do you read? You come through that?"

Garrus shoved himself up off the ground and reached for his radio. "Vakarian here, all present and accounted for." He held out a hand to Jennus, hauling the youth up out of the dirt for the second time. Meeting Kryik and Kandros's stares, he waited for them to give him a sharp nod before heading out. "Any idea what that thing was, Spectre?" he asked and cracked his neck, trying to ease the ache settling in behind his eyes.

"No idea, but I can see where it landed." The Spectre cursed under his breath. "Feels like I've had my brain scrambled with an egg beater, but I'm at the spaceport and moving onto the platform."

"I've got eyes on you." Garrus jumped down off the end of a torn up walkway, able to see Alenko climbing a short flight of stairs. "We're eighty metres back. If you give us thirty seconds, we'll have your back."

Alenko didn't respond, ducking into cover behind a stack of crates.

Taking his cue from the Spectre's sudden caution, Garrus sped into a ground eating run. "Kandros, on my three, ten metres out, eyes on Alenko." He pulled his rifle up into his shoulder, zooming in on the platform. A dark-skinned human man in an Alliance dress uniform stepped out from behind another stack of crates, approaching Alenko's position. It took Garrus three seconds to identify him. Everyone in the galaxy knew Spectre David Anderson, the Council's most respected and storied operative.

Garrus lowered his rifle. Why hadn't Alenko or the captain let him know that Anderson was in on the mission? He reached up to his radio, stalling halfway to his aural canal when Alenko swung out of cover, his pistol trained on his fellow Spectre.

 _Tarc_.

One mission headed straight into the pits of buratrum, roger that.

"Keep sharp, Kandros," he called. "Something's not right here."

Alenko lowered his pistol as the two men spoke, then turned to look up at where the vehicle had vanished into space. Anderson appeared to walk away, but then turned, a pistol raising to take aim on the back of Alenko's head.

"Kandros!" Garrus shouted into his radio, but the cabalist was already in motion.

A throw hit the human Spectre dead on. Despite his shields buffering him from the worst of it, the force staggered him. A shot rang out, the human tumbling to the decking.

"Take Anderson out!" Garrus hollered, opening fire as the human turned, sprinting out of sight down the platform. "Alenko is down."

Garrus sprinted the last twenty metres, and leaped up onto the platform, clearing all five stairs in a single stride. "Kandros, Jennus, follow that bastard, but don't engage unless you've got a clear shot. Keep your wits about you; watch for ambushes." He hit the metal decking on one knee, sliding into Alenko's arm. "Kryik, how much do you know about human implants and biology?"

The lieutenant winced. "Not as much as I'd like to right now." He knelt on Alenko's other side and ran his omnitool over the human's prone form. "He's breathing, heart rate is strong." A few more taps at the interface and Kryik let out a long breath. "He took the round through his shoulder. It's lodged in the bone, but his repair nanites are already chewing through it. I think Kandros knocked him out with her throw. Probably saved his life, though." Nodding after the other two, Nihlus dove into the Spectre's belt pouches. "I'll give him a shot of medigel and stims. He should be up in a couple of minutes, and we'll catch up."

Garrus nodded, slapping his LT's shoulder. "Excellent news. We've got to catch that bastard before he gets away with the beacon."

* * *

(A-N: So, here we have a topsy-turvy Mass Effect universe where tech is almost as invasive as synthesis, and biological purity is just plain weird. And everyone has switched place. This is going to be a very slow updating fic, so bear with me. :) Hope you enjoy the madness.)


	4. Chapter 4

**The C-Sec Officer**

 **Qisan:** (krogan) Post Rite of Passage Male

 **Sikah:** A ritual dagger made from the tooth of a thresher maw awarded to young krogan after the rite of passage. In ancient krogan society, the daggers were used in duels over matters of honour. Great warriors collected the blades of those they'd slain, wearing them slotted into a bandolier made of thresher hide.

 **Birinc Qan:** (Mirror Effect verse) The monthly ritual battle that takes place in huge, amphitheater-like temples. The intention is to keep krogan in touch with their warrior nature while functioning within a civilized, peaceful galaxy.

 **Citadel: C-Sec Headquarters**

"Hey, Dog Bite, you get the paperwork turned in on the Urdnot Fallsan kidnapping?" a turian voice called out of the crowd of people lounging in the C-Sec lounge.

Not bothering to glance in her partner's direction, Jane 'Dog Bite' Shepard tossed him a careless wave that could have meant anything and continued toward the C-Sec Executor's office. Let Ridgefield guess whether she'd sent the case and expense reports in. It served him right for giving her the puppy eyes while he begged off to go on a date … with his spouse. Who did that? Bond-mates and kids—she snorted loud enough to earn a couple of cocked eyebrows and brow plates—families were just an excuse to leave partners working over the weekend.

"Shepard, you going into the boss's office with that face?" A krogan blocked her path, a wide, shit-eating grin on his face. He folded his arms over his massive chest. "Might consider looking a little less like you just killed someone."

"I did kill someone, and I don't have time to run home and change this face for my brown-nose one." Hiding her smile, Shepard gave her friend a half-hearted shove and tried to duck past his hallway-dominating bulk. "Relax, this is my happy face, Frulk, now get the hell out of my way. I'm sure I'll be able to demonstrate my just-killed-someone face when the boss is done with me."

The krogan stepped aside. "Let a _qisan_ buy you a drink after you're done in there?"

The corridor seemed to narrow, collapsing around her like a chinese finger puzzle as another voice called, "How about you let me buy you a drink instead of that dino, hey, Dog Bite?" The man's voice shoved a pitch fork into the small of Shepard's back, the tines tearing through her gut before bursting out the front. Damn Harkin. Why couldn't the bastard just leave her the fuck alone?

Pretending she hadn't heard Harkin, she strode past Frulk, turning to walk backwards. A light, teasing shrug answered the krogan while she tried to think past the twisting gut and brain static. A fierce loathing bubbled up on a throatful of acid. No! She forced herself to focus on Frulk's dark blue, laughing eyes. "A drink, huh? I don't know, sexy. You going to try to get into my pants again?"

He laughed, low and deep, his stare snapping with good humour. "Always." Taking a step after her, he grinned, the expression sliding into a leer as he tilted his head back a little. "You going to scream so loud the neighbours call C-Sec to report a 239 in progress again?"

She winked and grinned. "Always, big man." She turned, putting a little extra swing into her stride as she continued down the hall. She threw a hand into the air. "Always."

"Hey, Dog Bite, going to let me into your pants one of these days?" The voice pulled Shepard's grin into a thin, loathing sneer. "What's the dino got that I don't?" Great, just what she needed before the inquisition strapped her to the rack and fastened on the thumbscrews.

"Everything, Harkin. That _dino_ … " She winced as she emphasized the word, hating its racist slant. "... is a thousand times the man you could even dream of being." She clenched her teeth, cracked her neck, and pulled a little twirl, clapping as she stepped out of it. "I'm sooo very, very too much for you to handle." Performing a handful of dance moves, still with her back to him, she continued down the long corridor. "But, you never know … scrape off that slime layer, grow a thirty-five centimetre dick, and learn how to make a woman do anything but puke when you get close to them, and I might consider getting drunk enough to throw pity sex your way." She flipped her middle fingers behind her, then another twirl.

Shepard barely got started back toward Executor Bailey's office when something slammed into her from behind and the floor rushed up to smack her in the face. Unable to get her hands out to protect her face, or cushion her fall, Shepard took the full brunt to her already splendidly broken nose. Despite her entire world dissolving into a black fog punctuated by silver stars, only a handful of seconds passed before she threw an elbow behind her, the resounding crack and phlegmy cry of pain telling her both that it found a nose, and whose nose it had found. Damned Harkin. Didn't he ever learn?

Rolling, Shepard flipped her assailant onto his back, pinning him under her. After delivering two hard slaps across Harkin's face and one not-quite-as-hard punch to the throat, she scrambled clear, her hands held out from her body. Regret flushed her cheeks and neck a fierce, lava-hot crimson. Despite the elbow lashing out from pure self-defense instinct, she hadn't needed to humiliate him with the slaps.

Again.

Officers rushed in, most by-passing her to drag the gasping and cussing Harkin to his feet. Someone pressed a rag to the blood pouring down his face. He wobbled for about a half-second, before lunging against the hands holding him up, fists lashing out, trying to catch a piece—any piece—of her.

"Harkin, stop," Ridgefield ordered, stepping between them. "You went after her first, and I can smell the booze on you from here, so go, wash up and head to the infirmary."

Shepard side-stepped to see the older officer around her partner, the toe of her boot dragging through a puddle of her own blood on the tile. "Look, Harkin, I'm sorry for taunting and slapping you, but you need to start leaving me the hell alone, man. You came at me first, with both the come on's and the tackle." She lifted a hand to the tickle under her nose, swiping the blood away. "Get the message and fuck off. Seriously. I'm tired of catching shit because you can't shut your drunken mouth."

"You're an embarrassment to the uniform, Shepard," Harkin lashed back. "You're only a senior investigator because of your daddy."

Swallowing a heavy gag of too-honest-for-having-a-smashed-face, she waved for the other officers to take him to the infirmary. "Yeah, well, sober up, clean up your act, stop taking bribes and shaking down old people, and maybe I'll consider listening to your life advice." She sagged, leaning a hip into the polycrete wall as the crowd broke up, moving on to whisper about her behind her back.

Frulk grabbed her by her shoulders and turned her to look into her eyes. "Now you look more like someone tried to kill you." He held up a hand and a wad of paper towels. "Want me to set that before you go into Bailey's office?"

Shepard cleared her throat, swallowing a wad of blood and phlegm. Her face felt as though someone had opened a tap, allowing hot water to pour into her face, filling up her sinuses. Might as well get things settled back where they belonged. "Yeah." She gripped his armour, bracing herself. "Be gentle with me."

The krogan chuckled as he held the towels to her face with one hand while gripping the askew bridge of her nose with the other. One firm but gentle tug, a crunch and sickening shift of cartilage grinding against cartilage, and the structures settled back where they belonged. "You should head for the infirmary, Shepard. I can tell Bailey that you'll be late."

Leaning into his solid support until the world stopped spinning and her stomach stopped threatening to heave her taco salad onto their boots, Shepard chuckled, a weak roll of sound. "Nah, I'm already late. I'll need the docs to repair whatever hole Bailey chews through me, anyway." She pushed off and patted his arm. "Thanks, Frulk. You're good people."

"So are you, Shepard. Don't let that waste of oxygen get to you." He spun on his claws and strode past the lounge toward the cafeteria. "I'll get an ice pack ready for when you get out."

She watched after him for a second, a warm smile trying to push its way past the swelling, but failing. A short, heavy sigh pushed a blood-bubble out between her lips, the thing spattering her neck and front of her uniform when it popped.

"What a glorious bloody day to be me," she muttered, and spun back toward Bailey's office, catching herself with a hand on the wall as the world twirled the opposite direction.

"Sweet Jesus, Shepard," the C-Sec executor said when she pushed through his door, "what the hell happened to you?" He pushed up from his chair and strode around his desk to grip her wrists, pulling her hands away from the damage. "Broken again? Another suspect resisting arrest?" He twisted the last words with enough sarcasm to feel like another shot to her face.

"No. A bad case of face versus floor tile." She tipped her head toward the chair in front of his desk. "Mind if I sit while you question my professionalism?"

"Yeah, go ahead." The executor's hand lifted to his ear as she wobbled past him, his low mutter of atlantic-canadian-accented curses letting her know that it was someone reporting her scuffle with Harkin. "All right," he said, but not to her, "when he's finished with the doc, give him a file 41-SWP and send him up to see me."

She stared at the painting hanging on the wall behind Bailey's desk—a tasteful landscape of a waterfall on Earth—as she listened in on his half of the call. 41-SWP? She winced. Shit, now Harkin would be out for her blood, even if Bailey handed her own suspended with pay packet. She eased herself down into the deep, comfortable chair, all the muscles torqued and pummeled by Harkin's take down beginning to rumble a wide variety of complaints. A long, moan spooled out as she leaned back, relaxing down into the cushions.

Bailey entered her peripheral vision, pacing around his desk to stand in front of his chair, his expression shifting too much to give her any idea of her employment status. After a second, he let out a whole-body sigh and leaned into his desk, his hands braced against the elegant wood, fingers splayed. "Seriously, Janey? Harkin again?" He shifted his weight to hold up a hand, the palm halting her explanation before it came out. "I know you didn't start it, and that's the only reason you're not following him out the door."

Shepard bristled, leaning forward, her elbows stabbed into the arms of the chair. "The only reason? How about the whole 'I'm a good cop who closes cases rather than drinking myself to death and taking bribes from every bad guy on the Citadel' issue?"

"Yeah, yeah." He thumped down into his chair as if his knees had given out. "You and Ridgefield close more cases than any other partnership in violent crimes, but you know as well as I do that while you might not break laws to do so, you come damned close." A finger sliced the air, silencing her protest. "Your attitude is constantly shoving thorns under the commission's fingernails and most of them have IA looking for any reason to terminate your ornery ass, so, please, just shut up."

Shepard scowled and fell back into the chair's depths. "Did my father put you up to this?"

Bailey laughed, a low, bitter, rotted sound. "No, Janey. Your father tried to talk me out of this. His exact words were, "I'm done waiting for her to grow up and become the woman and officer I know she could be. If she wants to play the aggrieved orphan, she can do so, but on the streets. I'm washing my hands."

Shepard blinked, the words carving chunks out of her guts and her heart … pieces she hadn't even realized she still possessed. "I wanted to be an artist," she said, her voice a susurrus of regret that scarcely moved the air. Nonetheless, she knew Bailey heard her when he tilted his head to indicate the painting behind his desk.

"Maybe you should have decided to just piss your dad off the once and gone to art school," he agreed.

Bailey leaned forward, hands clasped on his desk blotter, eyes narrowed. "Aren't you tired of being miserable, Janey?" She saw his adam's apple take a deep plunge as he swallowed, then sighed. "Look, kid. I've known you your entire life. You're a good cop and could be a great one—you've got the mind, the imagination, and the instincts for it. Hell, you could be sitting here in ten years if you were actually happy at your job."

"So, is this meeting to fire me? It didn't seem like it a minute ago." Shepard sniffed, wincing as the floor smacked her in the face again. She sank further into her chair. Truly, if it was about firing her, so much the better. She had a fair chunk of money squirreled away: enough to rent … maybe even buy a small corvette and tour the colonies. The militias there always needed dependable people for small elimination jobs: pirates and protection from slavers.

"No," Bailey answered, pulling her from her alternative life choices debate, "and not because of your father, either. I love the bastard, but he doesn't make staffing decisions for C-Sec, and he never will." Another toe-deep sigh and Bailey leaned back in his chair, a slight smile quirking his lips at the corners. "He is not you, nor is he your mother. Now there was a hell of a cop." The smile widened. "All your talent and instincts. Shame she didn't have your grit. She let every abused spouse and murdered child eat her alive."

The executor shook himself as if shedding the memory. "So, no, you're not fired. I called you here because I've got an assignment for you. I want you to investigate David Anderson."

Shepard laughed, a harsh cough that died the second she saw the flint in his stare. "You're serious? I mean, yeah … we all know there's something not-quite-right going on there, but he's the council's darling … untouchable." She sat forward, digging in like a pike driven into the ground to meet a charge. "Wait a second … this is the impossible assignment that gives you grounds to put the boot to my ass." She pushed out of the chair, immediately regretting the movement as the blood all rushed from her head to her nose, then dropped into her feet. After a moment of staggering, woozy and nauseated, she sat back down. So much for the great protest.

"No, I'm not setting you up. Jesus, kid, you're getting paranoid in your old age." He opened his omnitool and sent her a file. "I'm serious about this. Anderson was the best of the best once. He went from being a star in the Alliance to being the youngest Spectre ever inducted. Victory after victory … millions of lives saved thanks to his anti-terrorism and anti-slavery work." Bailey let out a noisy breath and nodded toward her omnitool. "Open it up, because about twenty years ago, everything changed."

Shepard glared at him for a few seconds, then opened the file, scanning the information. Wow, the galaxy really didn't know that much about their most storied Spectre. "Okay, so what happened twenty years ago? That's too recent for first contact shenanigans."

"I think it did start with first contact, actually … or during the war, anyway. His older brother was General Nathaniel Anderson. During the war, the general became more and more eccentric, started speaking out against human implants and upgrading … genetic mods." Bailey raked a hand through his close cropped blonde hair, a gesture that Shepard stopped herself from imitating halfway through. She'd spent far too much time around the executor.

A grumbled sigh escaped Bailey, most of it through his nose. "Eventually, Nathaniel showed up on Earth, parked himself on the steps of the Parthenon saying he found the salvation for all people. He claimed that God had sent him a message and a weapon to protect humanity and raise them above all other sapient life."

Shepard frowned as she read the report. "Within the day, David Anderson dropped the entire ruin on his brother's head, burying him and whatever weapon he'd found?" Scowling, she looked up to meet his stare, hers narrow-eyed as she lost the battle to keep her fingers from carving furrows through her short, red hair. "I think I remember Mom and Dad talking about that when I was a kid. They were pissed off because the Alliance declared it quarantine instead of letting Earth-gov investigate."

Shepard ran her fingers through her hair again, then forced her hand down into her lap. "Okay, so he comes from crazy, but I still don't see anything that warrants … ." She let the sentence die as she continued down the file. The list of missions where things went badly for turians was so long that she quite literally couldn't catch her breath. "Is this accurate?" Searching eyes met Bailey's again. "How has he gotten away with this?"

Bailey's neck flushed crimson, his temper's only real tell. "He's a Spectre," he said as if that explained everything, which it sort of did. "You said it, kid. He's the council's darling." The executor shrugged, visibly pulling himself back to a place of greater equanimity and lesser speaking out against his employer. "He gets the job done, and he's saved all of us twenty times over, but at a cost." He cleared his throat, chasing the rough avalanche of sound with a gruff curse. "Insufficient evidence, every single time."

"So, why are we keeping this on omnitools?" she asked, everything she'd seen and heard making her heart pound at the inside of her ribcage, insisting that she turn Bailey down and run. She needed to just buy her little ship and take off, never look back. "You want deniability, don't you?"

"Even though the council won't admit it, Anderson's gone rogue. A couple of months ago, he just vanished. I did some digging myself, and the last hint of his whereabouts, was this report from Omega ten weeks ago."

Shepard opened the file, a perplexed and … frankly, terrified … scowl knitting knots into the skin between her brows and at the corners of her eyes. "He showed up on Omega? With … what? A squad of lystheni?" Throwing herself out of her chair, she set into a wobbly pacing pattern. "This is so not good. Jesus, Patriarch must have blown a gasket. A council Spectre showing up on his station with a squad of pure Organic Intelligence?"

"There have been reports of lystheni ships sighted outside the Annos Basin, Shepard. I can't substantiate any of them." Bailey stood and walked around to sit on the corner of his desk. "In every case, witnesses and reports vanish." He reached out, snagging Shepard's arm, stopping her frantic circuit. "That's why this is on omnitools, Shepard." The sheer weight of fear moving behind the blue stare sent her flight response into overdrive again. "I was afraid if I sent it to your neural frame, it would show up on a scan somewhere. At least this way, all the information is restricted to wet-ware once you delete it off your tool."

That idea flushed ice water down her spine, the icy liquid instantly flash boiling as the unspoken portions of what he'd said began to register. "Are the council protecting him, or are they oblivious?" The question dropped, a satellite falling from orbit its fearsome halo of implications blazing around it.

A discomfited rumble rolled at the base of his throat. "Worse. They're scared and calling to 'form the square'. If we're not careful, it'll mow us all down before they break ranks." He squeezed her arm. "You're my secret weapon. I know something is going on, but with the council so scared, there are no official channels for me to follow."

Her scowl deepened until it felt as though her brow had embarked on a glacial slide down the slope of her nose. "So, this is just me? No Ridgefield? Minimal C-Sec resources?"

"Exactly." He released his grip on her. "You're free to turn me down, kid. This is as high risk as it gets."

Shepard snorted: unladylike, agonizing, and spraying blood. "Fuck, ouch!" she cried, one hand lifting to cradle her smashed nose. Dizziness sprinkled through the pain, lowering her back to the edge of her chair. When the world stopped spinning a little, she looked up at him through blurry eyes. "You know me better than that, Bailey. There's no way we can just let someone like Anderson go rogue. With his history of leaving no turian survivors behind him, we could end up at war with the Hierarchy, and we both know that the turians are far too strong to go down without a hell of a fight."

Silence settled between them, comfortable and thick, as Shepard read through the last of the file, then encrypted it and sent it to her hidden cache of incriminating evidence. Once she scrubbed her omnitool, she looked up, meeting the sapphire blades of her boss's stare. "Okay," she said, "I'll see what I can do."

After another thirty seconds of their staring contest, she slapped her palms against her thighs. "But for right now, I'm going to go see the doc, get my nose plastered, then I'm going to find Frulk, get the rest of me plastered, and then some endorphin therapy. I'll start in on Anderson in the morning." She grinned as he cleared his throat. "Yeah, I know, too much information."

Pushing out of the chair, she wavered for a second before gaining her balance. "I'll assume that I'll be in the wind for a bit? You can partner Ridgefield with Frulk. They work all right together. Well, as all right as a krogan works with anyone." She turned, carefully that time, and strode to the door. "Let me know what my undercover assignment is so I can do more than stare at people and drool when they ask why I'm not coming into the office."

"I'll have a file uploaded to your neural frame within the hour," he called after her.

Shepard closed the door behind her. Leaning back against the jamb, she let her head sag backwards and closed her eyes. Despite what she'd said to Bailey, she really just wanted to fill her veins with painkillers, walk through a hot shower, and fall into bed.

"You're a disgrace."

Sighing, a low susurrus of 'of course, he had to come along', she didn't bother to open her eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Bailey fire you this time?" From the barbed wire tone, she didn't even need to look at her father to see him clearly. Arms slammed down like blast gates across his chest, feet shoulder distance apart, whole body tall and stiff enough to put polycrete to shame. His bright green eyes flashing daggers, jaw clenched so tight he should break teeth, his glare challenged her to get lippy with him just so he could slap her back.

"No, sir. Special assignment. Going undercover." She pushed off the wall and straightened to parade rest. "And, not that you'll care, but this … " She gestured to her face. "... is because Harkin tackled me from behind. I didn't go after him, despite his gross overtures." She turned on her heel and started away.

"Propositioning a krogan in the middle of my academy," he growled after her. "Whoring yourself out to every alien you can get your clammy, slut hands on. Your mother would—"

Shepard spun back. "Mom would love Frulk. He's good people, and that's all she ever cared about." She laughed, sharp enough to cut, and spread her arms. "Look around, Commander. It's the end of the 22nd century. You live in a galaxy filled with amazing people who aren't human, and have your entire life. We've been out here almost 1500 years, how can you still be so backward?" When his expression hardened, she just shook her head. "Wow, the air must be thin back there in the dark ages." Turning away, she continued down the stairs and onward to the infirmary without a backwards glance.

"The only time I take issue with aliens is when they're sweating between my daughter's legs."

Shepard stiffened, but didn't rise to the bait, and did her best to walk past the averted eyes and uncomfortable shuffling of her fellow cops. Fuck, but she needed to get out of there. Maybe the Anderson case would catapult her somewhere better. Maybe freedom finally shone at the end of the tunnel.

As promised, Frulk awaited her at the end of the corridor, an ice pack in his hand. Gripping her shoulder with one hand, the other pressed the horrific object of agonizing torture to her face.

"I hate you," she said, gasping between curses as the cold smashed her nose with a sledgehammer … repeatedly.

He just chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, leading her toward the infirmary. "No, you don't." Halfway across the lobby, he nodded toward the pack. "Can I trust you to hold that in place?"

Shepard muttered, but the pain had eased to a dull roar, so she muttered assent, and took over control of the torture device. The krogan's arm tightened around her.

"Heard what you said to the commander," he said. He cleared his throat, a sharp grumble of rolling rocks. They took a few more steps before he continued. Shepard gave him space, not wanting to deal with the inevitable conclusion of having stood up for him. "Your mother was a great lady, and the cop we all try to become."

Shepard raised her eyebrows, and glanced over at the big, jovial face. "I adored her." A soft chuff of bitter, acidic-tasting laughter burst in her mouth. "Everyone thinks I'm here because I'm trying to win his approval, but they're wrong. I'm here to keep trying to save the galaxy … to keep doing her work." She shook her head, pulling them both to a stop. "And I was right, she'd like you."

The krogan nodded toward the infirmary door. "I'm going to wrap up my reports." He stared at her face, his eyes moving as if surveying the battle damage. "It's _Birinc Qan_ tonight," he said, his tone hesitant, unsure. He shrugged. "I'll call in my cousin Ortah."

Shepard palmed the door control, but then turned to face him. "Don't you dare. I'd have to be dead to miss _Birinc Qan_. I'll be your first, as always." She patted his shoulder with her free hand. "I'll have to wear a helmet to protect my poor schnoz, but my _sikah_ and I are there." Taking a long breath, she backed into the infirmary. "Just make sure there's a hell of a meal and some good booze ready for after."

"Wrex said he'd be there," Frulk said, sounding as though he couldn't decide whether it was a good thing or a bad one.

An excited grin stabbed small knives into her face. She and Frulk's father got along like the proverbial house on fire. "Excellent! That means a bigger, better feast afterward." She lifted an eyebrow, regretting it even as she asked, "Your mother's not going to be there this time?" If Shepard adored Urdnot Wrex, what she felt for Urdnot Bakara came close to worship. As a shaman, the _qadin's_ presence felt like being immersed in a warm bath of intense, spiritual love.

Frulk shook his massive head. "No, Wrex is here to report to the council … he just completed a code-bounty, but she's in meetings all night."

"I can't wait to hear about it. Your father always has the best stories. They should have based _Justicar: The Honour Bounty Tales_ on him, not that idiot Uvenk." She cut the air with a half-salute, half-wave, then turned to face the infirmary staff. "One broken nose reporting for taping," she called, cutting another sloppy salute. "I require massive volumes of painkillers. Annnnnnd ... proceed."


	5. Chapter 5

**Drellak** \- Tall, relatively slender four legged herd animals weighing approximately 300 kilos. They have a heavy, plated hide covered in thick, shaggy, very coarse hair that provides them with protection from the elements. They once wandered the entire planet in vast herds. They have formed the staple of the turian diet since hunters brought them down with stone hunting implements. In modern times, they run in free-range, managed herds.

 **Netichik:** Insect analogues native to Palven that have been exported to many colony worlds. About two centimetres long, they live in colonies burrowed into trees. Meat eaters, they drop out of trees in large masses onto the backs of animals passing beneath their nests.

 **Armiliteria** \- The most popular board game amongst turians. Military strategy game. It can be played by any number of players, but the standard set comes with 60 tiles for two players. Multiple sets can make for large, very intense games that last for months.

Time is expressed in a digital form in descending order. Example: 5381:04:20:26:19:09 is the date of the attack on Eden Prime/Aephus down to the Ahtrix (second). **Expressed in turian terms:** Cycle(year):Tadecem(month):Luxin(day):Orhan(hour):Sextim(minute):Ahtrix(second)

 **Aephus** 5381:04:21: **35:23:31**

Dug in like _netichiks_ burrowing under a _drellak's_ hide, the lystheni slowed the squad's progress to a crawl, forcing them to fight for every centimetre … forcing Garrus to move his people carefully, taking advantage of their strengths as he placed them: living Armiliteria tiles. Kandros and Alenko drove wedges through the enemy ranks with their throws, then blocked incoming fire while Jennus and Kryik whittled away at them with their assault rifles and concussive shots.

When they arrived on the far side of the space dock, they ran straight into enough demolition charges to take out the entire colony … twice.

"I'll scout ahead, check for locations on the explosives." Alenko boosted his barriers then took off, racing from cover to cover.

"Right," Garrus said, a low rumble. "We'll just follow along, then."

He stuck his head out from behind a crate, taking a couple of hits to his shields in order to check the enemy positions before he drew back. "Kandros, stick to cover—you've got bogeys at your eleven and one—and move up behind that crate on your right. Throw up a barrier to cover Kryik and Jennus as they move." He checked again to make sure none of the enemy had moved. Good, they'd dug in, playing it cautious after watching so many of their compatriots mowed down.

Garrus pressed a talon to his aural implant, opening the channel again. "Kryik and Jennus, as soon as she's in position, start moving up the alcoves." He took a breath and rolled in behind the crate Kandros vacated. "Alenko, you have an eye on any more of those demolition charges?" Pride lifted his mandibles as he watched his people move, slipping like wraiths amidst the crates, working together like pieces in a well-maintained machine despite not taking the time to sync their neural frames.

"There are two more on your side of the ramp to the docking platform," the Spectre replied. "There's one on the this side, but I'm on it."

"Roger that, Vakarian out." Garrus checked his twelve again, then moved up, peppering the few remaining lystheni with fire until he found the first of the devices Anderson had set to destroy the docks. "Kryik, there's another device further up. Keep moving up until you find it. Jennus and Kandros, cover him."

"Aye, sir," came their reply. Seven _sextims_ later, the five of them met up at the ramp, the devices inactive. "Okay, the beacon," Garrus said, his neural frame showing him the position of the prothean device even through the wall and a field of crates. "Looks like Anderson hasn't taken it, but … " He glanced at Alenko. "... nothing we've seen said it was active."

"It wasn't when they dug it up," Kandros supplied. She headed toward the ramp, her ancient assault rifle leading the way. "If he's used it, we could be too late already."

Using hand signals, Garrus sent Jennus ahead with Kandros, then followed at the Spectre's four. Although Alenko had kept up with them, favouring his shoulder only a little during their firefights, something about the human registered as off. Not that Garrus blamed him. Anderson going after his protege … well, it would be like Saren turning on him. He shuddered and forced aside the fist that buried itself in his gut, focusing on the path ahead. They needed to get to the beacon and get off Aephus.

Before they made it halfway down the ramp, he heard the screech of the spikes lowering to unleash more of the mummified, acid-spitting turian husks. "Sweet spirits," he said, grumbling under his breath about being tossed into a horror-vid. Raising his voice to audible levels, he said, "Heads up and slow down, spread out. If you've got grenades, don't be afraid to use them," he called, pulling a grenade off his belt, thumbing the control so it would explode with an incendiary burst upon impact.

As soon as he caught sight of the first, he hollered, "Fire in the hole," and tossed the grenade. The blast took out two, incinerating them as they howled and ran in circles. Four more attacked at once, a jet of acid from the last one splashing Alenko and Kryik across the legs.

"We're going to need to carry a lot more decon-nites," Garrus said as he emptied the last of his cannister on Kryik. He leaned down to look at the bleeding mess that was Alenko's lower legs. Spirits, red blood looked freaky. "Jennus, have any left?"

Alenko pulled a cannister from his pack and sprayed himself down. "This isn't quite the same, but should halt the acid."

"Here, boss," Jennus called, tossing Garrus a cannister when he turned. "That acid is a _tarc_ 'in' beast." He pressed a hand over the hole in his armour and rolled his shoulder. "Still feels like it's eating through me."

Garrus tossed the cannister back. "Finish taking care of Nihlus and the Spectre. Get them medigel'd and ready to move." He stood. "Kryik, you okay?"

Nihlus nodded, groaning a little as he levered himself up and dragged himself backwards to lean against the railing. "Yeah. I'll help the kid. We'll be there in an _ahtrix_."

Garrus touched Kandros's shoulder as he passed. "You're with me. Let's get this beacon aboard and get the hell out of here." Superstitious or cautious … whichever, he didn't want to approach the beacon alone.

He signalled for Kandros to move around to the right while he covered the left side. If anyone awaited them … if the warning jabbing pins under his fringe proved to be more than a false alarm, he wanted to have the enemy flanked and take them down in crossfire. Despite their caution, moving out onto the docking platform with weapons drawn and on auto-target as they slipped from crate to crate, the area stood deserted. No lystheni, no rogue Spectres, no terrifying husks ... just the beacon.

The beacon. Garrus stopped halfway across the platform, not wanting to get any closer. The thing both disgusted him and freaked him out. He'd long known that the Protheans had used organic technology, their ships, and even weapons, all alive … all at least semi-sapient. His father, a researcher at the Invictus ruins, had taken Garrus down into the dig site many times, and spun elaborate, fascinating tales about their current theories on Prothean culture, science, and technology.

Nothing his father had shown him or told him had prepared him for reality.

The thing across the prefab metal deck looked like some sort of hive growing up the trunk of a tree, green glowing through cracks and fissures in its surface. The energy it gave off crawled over his skin, insects writhing inside his armour, stinging and biting. It whispered inside his head: nothing he could understand, more of an itch inside his skull that he couldn't scratch … calling to him.

"Spirits," Kandros said, the words a hiss between bared teeth, "this thing is even creepier awake than it was when they dug it up." She cocked her head to one side and crept toward it a centimetre at a time. "It's buzzing, but not out loud, I feel it on my hide and inside my head. It feels like it's talking to me or something."

Garrus nodded, but didn't answer as he lifted his hand to his ear. " _Normandy_ , do you read? The beacon is secured and ready for pick up." He took a deep breath, turning away from Kandros and her continued assessment of the beacon when the rest of his team limped off the end of the ramp. "As well, medbay needs to be prepared for wounded."

Kandros laughed. "Yeah, everyone got off with minor damage, well, except for you, Commander."

Garrus let out a sharp, hissed breath, his subvocals chastising her as he shot a glare her way. "Don't jinx it, the mission isn't over."

" _Normandy_ incoming," Scurra reported over the channel. "ETA to pick up five _sextims_."

"Kandros!"

The subvocal alarm in Kryik's shout spun Garrus around, the commander just registering the cabalist being dragged across the decking by unseen talons before he leaped into action. Boots sliding a little on the grooved metal, he raced across the platform, leaping the last few metres. Snatching Kandros out of the air, his feet scarcely hit the deck before he spun, flinging her clear. Digging in, he tried to follow her out, but the beacon would not be denied, pulling him in, lifting him into the air.

A soundless scream ripped from his mouth as invisible hands stretched him out until the ligaments in his shoulders, hips, and spine tore, the agony acquainting him with the plight faced by the victims of quartering.

 _They are a gaping maw, dark and terrible, a vortex of death and madness sweeping across worlds, sucking up every trace of life in their path. Their hunger cannot be sated. We are the last of a glorious empire turned into a rotting corpse of defeat and betrayal. We cannot be saved. We failed, our planets laid waste, our people consumed or transformed while the Leviathan bloat, a gluttonous orgy growing ever more monstrous. They eat, they breed, they spawn, and everywhere their hunger consumes all. We have failed._

Garrus's mind reeled, sanity strained by flashes of monsters; destruction; people fleeing just to drop dead mid step; worlds left dead and barren; others covered in wandering, mindless creatures. Horror, blatant and soul-freezing, suffused every atom of his body in the few _ahtrixi_ before his neural frame overloaded, dropping him into a dark, nightmare-filled well of unconsciousness.

 **TSF Normandy** 5381:04:22: **16:10:04**

Garrus clawed his way out of the well one desperate, grasping talon hold at a time. Every breath tore in and out, ragged and sharp, the air scorching as if he inhaled plasma. The monsters clambered up the slimy walls, writhing bodies swarming over each other as they tried to hook him, drag him back down into the darkness where everything dissolved into hunger and madness and an agony that never eased.

 _Hanging over an upper floor railing, a mate calls out to his spouse and children. They race for the stairs, screaming as the wall of swirling green energy closes on them. As he reaches down, straining to cover the impossible distance, his biotics snatch them from the floor a half second too late. His mate stares into his eyes, hers terrified and tormented as the monster stills the screams in their children's' throats. He cries out, his agony silent even as it shreds his insides. They're dead before the wall of energy takes their bodies. The last thing he sees before he throws himself over that railing is his family dissolving, pieces of them drawn into the vortex, funneled into the Leviathan's maw_.

The darkness cracked, bright orange light spilling through. Garrus broke into consciousness fighting, talons prying into the crack, forcing it open until he bolted upright off the medical bed, awake. Thank the sweet spirits. Awake. The monsters fell away, tumbling back into the darkness.

The orange glare seared into his eyes, but he didn't blink or wince away from it. Instead, he let it burn away the last of the visions and the gelid slime that oozed through him.

"Welcome back." Gentle talons pressed against his shoulder, easing him down onto the mattress.

The doctor's voice carried subvocals of exhaustion, concern, and enough relief that Garrus guessed at the answer before he asked, "How long?" His voice came out sounding more like a rough croak. He ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth, the surfaces all numb and gritty. In fact, his entire body felt cold and distant like a lump of clay. He flexed his talons just to be sure he could, a faint sigh of relief escaping when they clenched into fists.

"Eighteen _orhans_ , give or take." The omnitool turned off, allowing Garrus to focus on the face beyond it. "Your neural frame overloaded and gave your nervous system a hell of a jolt." He held up the melted ruins of the interface. "Took me nearly twelve _orhans_ to get all the cooked feeders worked out of your brain and spinal cord." Chellick dropped the interface back on the table next to Garrus's bed. "How do you feel?"

By way of response, Garrus held up a hand, needing help to swing his feet off the bed and sit up. When he reached a mostly upright position, he released his grip on the doctor, trading it for bracing against the edge of the table. "Like I was hit by an APC and left for dead," he said, at last.

"That's to be expected." Chellick moved to his desk. "It looks as though you're going to be all right, but you'll need to take it easy for the next few _luxins_. Seems like the beacon reacts badly to implanted tech."

Garrus stiffened, steel rods stabbing down his spine as the doctor sparked his memory. "The beacon? Did they get it aboard? What happened? It grabbed Kandros first. Is she all right?" Twenty other questions crowded into his head, but the doctor held up his hands to halt the flood.

"Slow down. Yes, they got the beacon aboard. It overloaded when it was holding you, but your neural frame shunted the worst of it." The doctor grinned and shrugged. "It shut down right after it shut you down, but it doesn't appear damaged."

Garrus slid off the bed, leaning heavily against the edge until his legs made a decision about giving out. After thirty _ahtrixi_ or so they opted to hold him up, albeit, reluctantly. "Are we—"

The medbay door opened, Captain Arterius interrupting Garrus's question as he strode through. "Good to see you've finished your nap," he said, sarcasm rippling through his subvocals. A slight smile flicked across his mandibles. "How's the patient doing?" he asked Chellick, his pale blue stare never wavering from Garrus.

"The swelling throughout his nervous system is resolving itself nicely. He'll be fine in two or three _luxins_. Light duty until then, and he'll have to check in with me at the beginning of alpha shift and the end of beta until further notice _._ " Chellick passed the captain a datapad. "It'll be the better part of a _tadecem_ before I feel good about replacing his neural frame."

That news pulled Garrus's attention from Arterius. He bristled, then policed his reaction and relaxed a little when the doc backed up a step. "A _tadecem_?" Spirits, he couldn't be grounded that long, not with a rogue Spectre and his monsters running roughshod over the galaxy. His stare snapped back to the captain. "You can't keep me off ground missions that whole time, sir. Anderson—"

The captain chuckled, his humour raising the plates along Garrus's spine. Before Garrus could do any more than sputter indignantly, Arterius raised his hands and squared his shoulders, the gesture ordering Garrus to back down. "You won't be grounded, but you'll need to top the percentages in the simulators and on the gun range before I let you out there stripped down." He took a deep breath, settling into a stiff parade rest that told Garrus the discussion had ended.

Giving his superior a sharp nod, Garrus settled into parade rest as well, taking a subordinate posture more from weakness than anything. His muscles trembled all the way down to his bones.

"Anderson and his monster have disappeared, but he used the beacon before you arrived on the platform." Arterius's brow plates spiked as he spoke the Spectre's name. Huh. Something in the set of the captain's mandibles and the low sub-sonic rumble beneath his words set off all of Garrus's alarms. Arterius and Anderson shared a history, and it wasn't a friendly one. Garrus would bet his left mandible on that.

The captain's subvocals turned, telling Garrus to stop pondering and start listening. "Do you have any idea what Anderson might have gleaned from it? From the suit footage and the reports of the ground team, the beacon had you in its grip for nearly thirty _ahtrixi_ before it sent out the EM burst that fried your frame. Did you see anything?"

Garrus raised one brow plate, a subtle question that Arterius responded to by relaxing and rumbling a subvocal of assent. Cocking his hip, the captain crossed his arms over his keel, opening the floor for Garrus to relax and speak his mind.

Moving back to sit on the edge of the bed, his legs needing the extra support as he allowed the memory to surface, Garrus let out a long sigh. "It was a warning and a lot more. I didn't understand most of it. All that came across with painful clarity was the fact that there were—or are—a lot more like the monstrosity we saw on Aephus, and they consumed the Prothean empire completely." He turned to Chellick. "May I have my frame, please, Doc? It will have recorded the vision before it was fried, so maybe I can salvage something from its memory nodes."

Chellick passed the tech over, the state of it dropping Garrus's hope into his boots. The blast had been enough to cook it pretty thoroughly. Still, maybe one of the distal backups contained some information. He sighed, knowing he needed a backup plan for when the long shot failed. "Maybe once I get another frame it can access and translate the data from my wetware."

Arterius straightened again. "I know an asari matriarch who might be able to help get some information out of your wetware as well." Shaking his head, he met Garrus's sudden alarm with a susurrus of calming subvocal. "She's completely AY gene negative … a spiritual leader trying to bring the asari back into the galactic community."

Garrus nodded, but couldn't force the muscles across his shoulders to relax, each one feeling like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. He'd walked the streets of Vallum on Taetrus after the Ardat Yakshi slaver gangs ran rampant through the city. Anyone too old or lame to fetch a decent price had been drained and left where they fell, their faces frozen in expressions of such complete horror that Garrus still woke up sweating and shaking from nightmares. As much as he wanted to get at the beacon information, the thought of letting any asari within arm's length of his head … just … no.

"We're en route to the Citadel," the captain said, his tone clearly tabling the asari issue for later discussion. "I want you to head straight to your closet and rest until we arrive." He nodded at the tangle of scorched and melted tech in Garrus's talons. "Seeing if you can salvage anything off that and walking laps is most I want you exerting yourself." He set his mandibles, brow plates, and shoulders, his entire bearing saying, accept it and deal. "If Aephus is any indication, we've got a hell of a fight on our hands. I'm going to need you at one hundred percent, even without your frame."

Garrus slid down to stand at attention and saluted, wobbling a little as the quick motion threw off his equilibrium. His stomach rolled, an empty threat since he hadn't eaten in nearly two _luxins_ , but it and the trembling in his knees both convinced him that the captain was right. He needed the time to recover.

"What about my team?" He glanced behind him at the empty beds. "I take it they've recuperated? No lasting damage from the acid?"

Chellick blanched a little. "The acid fired by the larval and husk constructs is corrosive and toxic, but also insidious. It works its way up the target's bloodstream attacking all implants and modifications. It actually uses the individual's repair nanites against them, riding the nanites deeper into the body to attack all synthetic applications. I disabled it and managed to clear it out of their systems, but their implants took damage."

Garrus's head began to pound, heavy and insistent. The pressure behind his brow plates strident enough to set his stomach rolling again. Still, he remained focused on his team. "Are they all right?"

"They'll be fine once they get their hardware replaced on the Citadel, just running a little buggy at the moment." The doctor's attempt at humour fell flat, his expression and posture remaining guarded. "We're going to need to find a defense against the acid or a quick counter agent that we can administer in the field. Another couple of _orhans_ and they'd have been in real trouble. I've been working on it, but I'm a doctor not a biochemist."

"We can both look for someone when we reach the Citadel," the captain assured Chellik. "We'll be there in less than sixteen _orhans_."

"What about Cabalist Kandros?" Garrus asked, taking refuge on the edge of the bed once more. "Did we leave her on Aephus? Do the doctors there know about the acid?"

"She's fine. We brought her along." Arterius shrugged, a slight dip of his head. "Lt. Cmdr. Kryik said she acquitted herself with honour and skill on the planet, and Spectre Alenko credits her biotics with helping save his life, so I asked her to remain on board." He ended the statement on an upnote, clearly wishing Garrus to weigh in on the Cabalist's transfer.

"She's a cabalist," Garrus said, shaking his head, watching his captain from under heavily lidded eyes. "I don't know … biotics are nothing but trouble."

"Watch yourself there, Commander," Arterius said, the words a low, smoky growl that rolled with humour rather than heat. One of the first turian biotics, the captain had greatly impressed his superiors early in his career, managing to avoid being transferred to the cabals once they were formed. If anyone would give Kandros a shot to work with a regular military crew, Saren Arterius was that _torin._

Garrus managed to hold his stern expression for a moment before breaking into a grin. "Kandros acquitted herself admirably on the surface, sir. She's the only reason that Anderson didn't get a kill shot on Alenko. She's smart and thinks quick on her feet. I agree that she'll be an asset." He let out a long, grumbling sigh that ramped up his headache. "And she knows what we're facing. That'll be invaluable."

The captain's mandibles fluttered a little. He shifted hips but then nodded, a swift tilt of his head. "She says differently, but I agree. Keep an eye on her and make sure none of the crew give her any grief."

"Yes, sir." Garrus saluted again.

Arterius nodded, that one appearing to be in response to something in his head. "You're dismissed, Vakarian. Get your report written up, and get some rest. When we get to the Citadel, we have to deal with the politicians, and none of them are going to want to hear what you have to say."

Garrus boosted himself further onto the bed as his captain left the medbay. "I have a hell of a headache starting here, Doc." He pressed the heel of his hand to his temple. "Is it just a side effect that you can dose the hell out of?" Long cycles of dealing with doctors made Garrus doubt that he'd escape that easily, but he could always hope.

Chellick confirmed Garrus's worst case scenario with the orange light of his omnitool and a gesture to get all the way onto the bed. "Lie back and let me run a few scans," Chellick said. "Might as well try to take a nap."

Garrus groaned, prompting a chuckle from the medical officer. "I think you doctors just get lonely and use taking us captive as a break in the monotony." Still, he stretched out on the thick memcell, his entire body letting out a long, painful sigh.

"Yes, that's it exactly," Chellick said as he tapped at his omnitool interface. "Your sparkling company makes my days so much brighter. Now, lie still."

Garrus didn't intend to fall asleep. He intended to return to his tiny quarters in the bow of the crew deck and dissect his neural frame. He truly didn't intend to fall asleep.

The doc began muttering to himself. Never a good sign in any doctor.

And then the lights went out.

 **TSF Normandy** 5381:04:22: **29:13:21**

"Commander?"

Garrus opened his eyes, feeling as though he should install some sort of mechanized eyelid lift system considering the weight and effort involved. Spirits, he felt drugged. It took three tries to hoist his arm up far enough to press a hand to his head. His skull felt as though someone had stuffed it with vetri pods, but at least the headache was gone.

"How long?" he asked, still not able to focus on the person standing next to his bed.

"Sir?" Kandros. He recognized the voice.

"How long did I sleep this time?" he asked, letting his arm settle back to his side.

"Nearly ten _orhans_." Chellick that time. "Your nervous system suddenly began to swell out of control. That was why the headache: fluid rushing into your skull." The ever-present orange light swept over him. "However, due to my skill and quick actions, you'll be fine." The omnitool light vanished. "In fact, perhaps Cabalist Kandros would do me the favour of escorting you to your quarters, so I can get some sleep."

Despite his grumpy tone and the exhausted slump that bowed his spine, Chellick patted Garrus's shoulder. "Nothing but rest and food until we arrive at the Citadel, and check with me before you go aboard."

Garrus pawed clumsily at the blankets draped over him, grunting a soft, subvocal thank you to Kandros when she stepped in to help. She helped him sit up, earning more gratitude, albeit grudging, when he needed her assistance to slide down and stand without falling over. If he felt as though he'd been hit by an APC the first time he woke up, that time felt more like the _Normandy_ had fallen on him … from orbit.

Without waiting for an invitation or asking permission, Kandros ducked under his arm to support him, wrapping her other arm around his waist. Once settled, she set out, just expecting him to follow, which he did, stunned silent that she'd invade his space so casually. For a moment, he considered saying something, but he needed the help. He could go over protocol and propriety when his joints didn't feel formed out of gelatin.

Just before they reached the door, Garrus turned back and grabbed his neural frame off the table. "Thank you, Doctor. Rest well."

"You're most welcome, Commander," Chellick replied, turning down the lights even as they crossed the threshold. "And I intend to."

"So, why is this ship, a turian prototype, named after what my research says is both a place on Earth and an ancient battle from its history?" Kandros asked when the medbay door closed behind them, the question so totally random that, for a moment, Garrus just stared at her. Something about the _tarin_ warned him that he'd spend a lot of time off-balance around her.

He didn't really know the answer to her question, but he passed on the rumour he'd heard the most. "This ship was co-designed by humans and turians. Apparently, the two lead designers were close friends." He shifted his weight off her shoulder to stand more on his own as the pain in his legs and down his spine numbed a little. "Near the end of the project, the human was diagnosed with a terminal illness, and he requested that they name her the _Normandy_ after where he grew up in France back on Earth."

The cabalist nodded and led him around the elevator to the door between the stairs to the CIC. "Okay, sentiment makes more sense than Jennus's version."

Garrus palmed the door control and stepped into the fore-corridor. He glanced over at her, one brow plate cocked. This should be good. "Which was?"

"Bribery to get the Hierarchy a seat on the council." She laughed. "If it was that easy, the entire fleet would be named the TSF Kiss the Council's Bulbous Ass Cheeks."

A sharp snort of laughter answered that, her irreverence catching Garrus off guard. "Catchy," he said, chuckling under his breath, "but confusing and a hell of a mouthful."

She chortled then lapsed into a silence that told him they might be coming to the reason she'd been standing next to him when he awoke.

"Look, sir, I'm sorry about the whole thing with the beacon," she blurted so suddenly and so loud that he jumped, startled. "I know that I shouldn't have gotten so close, but … ." She sighed, a nasal whistle. "I've been told that my curiosity dangerously outstrips my caution, and … well, _tarc_ , I'm just sorry that it got you hurt." She stopped outside the door that declared it opened into the quarters of Cmdr. Garrus Vakarian, Executive Officer. "And thank you, sir … for saving me." A slight smile fluttered across her mandibles. "Both times."

Garrus palmed the control, the door sliding open to reveal his bunk, tiny end table, and closet, the entire thing packed into less than five square metres. "You're welcome for the saving bit, and don't worry about the beacon. If I'd approached it first, I would have been pulled in. There's no fault." He nodded down the corridor, suddenly eager to lock himself away for awhile, and to escape the cabalist's over-familiar aura. "You'd better get some rest before we reach the Citadel. It takes more energy to deal with politicians than it does to fight an entire company of krogan justicars."

When she hesitated, he touched the back of her hand, a quick, distance-appropriate gesture. "We're fine, Cabalist. Stop worrying about it. That's an order. I'll see you when we arrive at the Citadel." He watched after her as she returned to the galley, only ducking into his tiny quarters once the door closed behind her. Damn, his rack looked good, despite the cramped space. He sat on the side, his legs letting out long, silent groans of pain-filled relief as he sank into the memcell.

Despite wanting nothing more than to lie down, cover up, and disappear into sleep for the rest of the trip, he needed to see if he could get any information off the frame to substantiate his claims. Looking down at the melted tech draped over his talons, he let out a long sigh. How had he survived a blast that intense? That much energy should have completely cooked his wetware.

He reached up, scratching just beneath his fringe. "Okay, Vakarian, get this done." He followed the web of feeders down to the node that had once sat near the base of his spine, just above his pelvis. The furthest point from the blast, it had the best chance of remaining at least partially intact. Fabricating the tool he needed, he set to work.

(A-N: So, I created a system of turian time, as you can see. I am of two minds about it. One, I love that it takes a little human-centrism out of the story. The turians are their own people, with their own way of looking at the universe and measuring it. However, it adds another layer of 'have to figure this the heck out' to a story that already has you lovely readers figuring a lot of stuff out.

Soooo … I put it to you. Keep the time and uniqueness? Or keep it simple and use our dates/times? I shall use the feedback to make my ultimate decision. Majority will likely rule.

And thanks so much for your support of this story. It is so much appreciated. *hugs for those unlike Garrus who like hugs* )


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Five - Trials of Honour**

 **Qisan** : (pronounced kee-sahn) Male after undergoing the rite of passage

 **Qadin** : (pronounced kah-dihn) Female after undergoing the rite of passage (female version)

 **Birinc Qan** : (Mirror Effect verse) The monthly ritual battle that takes place in huge, amphitheatre-like temples. The intention is to keep krogan in touch with their warrior nature while functioning within a civilized, peaceful galaxy.

 **Gikgah** : Ancient, ziggurat-like temple structures. (Mirror Effect verse) Temples where krogan rites and ceremonies take place.

 **Sikah:** A ritual dagger made from the tooth of a thresher maw awarded to young krogan after the rite of passage. In ancient krogan society, the daggers were used in duels over matters of honour.

 **Rahat:** Shit, feces, excrement. **Urahat:** equivalent expression to bullshit, but doesn't translate exactly.

Time is expressed in a digital form in descending order. Example: 5381:04:20:26:19:09 is the date of the attack on Aephus down to the Ahtrix (second). **Expressed in turian terms:** **Cycle** (year): **Tadecem** (month): **Luxin** (day): **Orhan** (hour): **Sextim** (minute): **Ahtrix** (second)

 **The Citadel** 5381:04:21: **34:10:31 (Concurrent with Spectre Alenko's shooting)**

Shepard stretched out, her whole body letting out soft sighs and whispers of pleasure. She shifted her heels a little, hooking them more securely over Frulk's shoulders. Finishing her stretch, she lowered her omnitool where she could see the small screen.

"I haven't got the first idea how to start this investigation into Anderson and the lystheni." She wriggled her backside a little further down the bed and tilted her pelvis. "Support a girl's ass, will you?" she asked, casting a wry grin over the orange glow of the screen.

"You're impossibly lazy," he said, a good natured grumble. Still, when she lifted her backside off the bed, he settled it into one large hand.

"I'm wounded, and filled with lazy drugs," she argued, then moaned, lifting into him as he stroked into her, long and slow. "Oh fuck, yes. Dear, sweet angels of the lord, right there." She closed her eyes, savouring the sensation of his member sweeping over and pressing into all the exact right spots. "Fuck, yes. Slow and deep."

Obeying her direction, he slowed his strokes, dragging out the glorious, maddening sensations as he withdrew almost all the way then thrust back in. She looked up at him, grinning as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back against his hump. "Anderson's untouchable," he said, his voice tight with the control needed for their other concern. "And no one is going to talk about lystheni. They're the ghouls of the entire galaxy."

Shepard reached over her head, blindly grasping for the bottle of cheap, strawberry schnapps on the night stand. "Yeah, we go to the salarian flotilla with … 'Tell us about the monsters you unleashed on the galaxy' ... they're going to toss us out an airlock." Sitting up a little, she tipped the bottle, pouring the sickly, over-sweet liquor straight down into her throat. She passed it to Frulk.

"My ancestors are gagging on how bad this is," he said, the words punctuated with wincing and heavy swallows. He poured down another couple of centimetres, then passed the bottle back. "My mother forced better tasting _rahat_ than this down my throat when I was sick."

"Yeah, it's terrible, but tell me that it hasn't lit a hell of a fire behind that delightful organ of yours." She chuckled, dumped another couple of ounces down her throat, then twisted to thump the bottle back down on the cheap, badly-assembled-it-myself nightmare next to her bed. A chuckle chased hot on the heels of a long, throaty moan as he pounded into her hard and fast a dozen times, slamming the head of the bed into the wall.

Thank god the bed was on an inside wall. Thrilled didn't exactly describe the neighbours' reactions to Frulk's frequent visits.

"It might have," he said, laughing low and lusty. His hand squeezed her ass, kneading it in a most delicious way, setting loose a craving for more.

She wriggled against the hard callouses on his palm. "Wouldn't mind one of those fingers doing something for a living."

Another laugh. "I can't hold your ass up and finger it at the same time."

She flipped to another screen on her omnitool and wriggled closer to hook her heels further over his shoulders to help. "You're a talented _qisan_ , you'll figure it out." She sighed as she scrolled down a list of informants and CI's. "I'm going to have to go to Von." A revolted shudder met that thought, followed by one of pleasure as Frulk figured out his multi-tasking. "Mmm. That's it there." She rolled her pelvis in time with his thrusts.

"That creepy little bastard?" Frulk held his hand out for the bottle, downing nearly half of what remained when she passed it over. "I don't know. The volus just keep falling further down the batarian's _rahat_ pile. And there's the small matter of his setting a pack of varren on you because he had a bad feeling about you."

Shepard emptied the bottle and dropped it on the floor, groping around it until she found another one. Her nose still pounded far too insistently to face entering the arena at the _gikgah_ and taking on two angry krogan determined to prove that their blood remained filled with violence and fire. Lifting it to her mouth, she used her teeth to rip the seal from around the cap, then clamped the cap between her molars and twisted it loose, spitting the plastic onto the floor.

"That's what I love most about you, Shepard," Frulk laughed. "Classy all the way."

Humour and love heating her through even more than the alcohol, Shepard wriggled her eyebrows and drained the neck of the bottle. "What can I say, I'm a woman of simple but deep appetites." Uttering a soft moan, she clenched all her muscles around him. "Like that right there. I can never get enough of that gorgeous thing filling me up."

When she held out the bottle, he shook his massive head. "Need to fight with some degree of competency in a couple of hours."

He spoke the truth there; they both did. Although Shepard figured she'd probably fare better two sheets to the wind … well, maybe a sheet and a half. Still, time drew on, and Frulk's father liked to drop by before heading over to the _gikgah_.

"Pull out, big guy," she warned him. Once he did, she lifted her feet from his shoulders and flipped over onto her hip. Shepard set the bottle on the nightstand's damp ring from the first bottle, then turned all the way over, backing into him, the rough projections from the plating on the outside of his legs scraping along the insides of her calves. She wriggled, settling herself, then lowered her head to the blankets.

"I wish the turians had beaten the batarians to the volus," she said, squeezing her eyes closed, savouring the anticipation. His hands stroked down her back, then over her ass, the head of his erection brushing her sex. "The volus are so malleable. They could have used a good, strong spine of honour-driven traditionalism." She listened to his movements, her skin prickling in the brief pause before cold, slipperiness touched heated skin. She moved against his fingers as he spread it around, teasing her.

"Instead, the slaving bastards got there first, and now the volus are barely a step away from slavers themselves." She reached back, stroking him from quad to head. "As good as that feels, I'm a sure thing here, big guy, you don't need to baste the goose. Let's get this moving."

Frulk chuckled, but pressed himself against her, one hand caressing her hip. "Maybe I'd like to spend a second being a lover rather than an endorphin rush."

"You're always a lover, you big idiot. I've got a drawer full of toys if I just want to come." She stroked him again, then turned back around and rested her cheek against the blankets. "Excuse me for not wanting your father to appear in the door and start offering advice. Again." An uncomfortable pressure built in her face, her nose pounding, unimpressed with being the lowest part of her body, but then Frulk pressed against her.

"So, Von," he said as he gently overcame her body's reluctance to let him enter.

She grunted and pushed back against him. "Yeah, Von. The Shadow Broker owes me a favour, but I admit—" Reaching back, she pressed against his belly. "Easy there, give a girl a chance to adjust." She slipped her hand down to tease the soft hide at his hip joint. "Yeah, mmm, like that." Rocking back and forth a little, she helped ease him all the way in.

"Lean up," he said, one hand pressing under her belly as if trying to lift her.

"Hold on." Chuckling, she pushed herself up. "You and your obsession with tits. Seriously, Frulk, it's unnatural for a krogan." Still, she leaned up, resting against the arm that wrapped around her, while the other grasped her breast, fingers kneading while his thumb played with the nipple. She held the omnitool up where he could see it. "But Von creeps me out. See anyone else on the list we could hit up for a lead on Anderson?"

Frulk paused his fondling to point to a name. "Tia's in the Spectre office now. PA rep." He took a couple of long, hard strokes, then paused, glancing at Shepard.

She muttered when he stopped. "Yeah, go … drive away, love." Clutching the arm that held her, she moved with him, pushing back as he pushed forward. "Dear god, yes. Harder. Fuck, yes. Still harder. I don't want to walk properly until some time tomorrow."

Each thrust drove the air out of her lungs in a soft grunt. "Tia might be able to get me … fuck, yeah, like that, grip me tighter … close to a computer I could slice into." Reaching down, she rubbed herself, driving that burning ball of need and pleasure to the edge of the precipice and holding it there.

"That's technically illegal," he said, the words roaring with his breath.

Shepard laughed. "In some places back on Earth, so is what you're doing to me right now. That's not going to stop me." She pressed back against him. "Still harder."

He leaned down, his tongue sliding along her neck and around her ear as he hung his head over her shoulder, hooking his chin in the curve of her neck. "What about after the fight? Going to skip the locker room quicky?"

"No, it's tradition." She turned to kiss his face, planting soft, wet kisses along the line of his mouth. "We'll just use the more traditional entrance. Now, harder … deeper. I want to feel you all the way inside me." Gripping his arm with both hands to resist the power of his thrusts, Shepard arched her back, leaning back to rest her face against his. "God, yes. So fucking good." Mouth open, she panted for air, soft curses and wails escaping as the delicious friction of him filling her built toward detonation. "Come," she said, the words thin, almost hissed into his ear. "Fill me."

His tempo and strength increased to the point of pain, passionate lack of control impacting plate against tender flesh for the last few seconds before he bellowed and went still, gripping her so hard her ribs creaked. Rubbing herself harder and faster, she followed, shoving the bomb in her gut over the cliff where it detonated.

Taking over once they both relaxed out of the locked muscles and blissful cries stage, Shepard moved slowly, easing him down as her body pulsed around him. When he withdrew, she climbed up to stand on the bed and turned in his arms to hold him close.

"My god, you are good at that," she whispered, smiling as he chuckled, "I'm going to be coming for two days every time I squeeze my ass cheeks together." Pulling away, she kissed him. "I'll be right back." She hopped down from the bed onto shaking knees, and steadied herself with a hand on his arm. "Wow, you must have been saving up," she teased. "Don't you have _qadix_ you bang when our shifts clash?"

Once her legs decided to hold her, she headed for the bathroom, giggling to herself as she wobbled, and not from the cheap schnapps.

"Nah." She heard him tossing pillows around, then her bed let out a long creak as he laid down. "None that hold my interest past a conversation or two."

Shepard swung the door shut but didn't latch it as she used the toilet, then ran through a shower. Five minutes later, she wandered back out of the bathroom.

"Want some ice cream?" she asked, reaching out to stroke his feet as she walked past. "I need some calories to make it through the trial." Barefeet padding over the cool ceramic tile, she crossed through the dining area and into the kitchen to grab a small carton of ice cream and a large spoon.

Returning to the bedroom, she took a couple of running steps, then rolled over his massive body to lean on her side, resting against the bank of pillows that supported his hump. She reached across him for the bottle of schnapps, and after pulling the lid off the ice cream with her teeth, she dumped a couple of ounces in on top.

"Put that back?" she asked, holding out the bottle. When he took it, she dug into the ice cream, dredging it around to mix in the liquor. "It's just vanilla," she explained. "I had a craving. It's gone now."

After stabbing the ice cream for a few seconds, she stopped and looked up to find his big, bright blue eyes staring down at her. "Frulk … ." She hesitated, then let out a long sigh. "What you said before about just being an endorphin rush … ." She stabbed the ice cream a few more times before looking up at him again. "You know that's not true, right? You know what you mean to me."

He nodded, a slight twitch of the massive, red-crested head, but didn't speak.

"You know that I love you, right?" She stuck a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, letting it melt a little before sucking it off the spoon. When she pulled it out, she looked down into the container and raised her eyebrows. "Hey, that really tastes pretty good." She dug the spoon in. "Want to try it?" When he opened his mouth, she fed him the ice cream, then leaned back, waiting for his verdict.

"Definite improvement over the _rahat_ straight out of the bottle," he agreed. He sighed. "I know you love me, Jane. As much as you can let yourself love anyone." He shrugged when she winced. "And I understand why it's so hard for you to trust."

"Hey!" She leaned over him to place the ice cream on the nightstand, then draped her arm over his chest. "I trust you." Pressing her lips together, she closed her eyes and leaned down to rest her brow against his neck. "It's never about trusting you. It's about trusting myself and not wanting to screw up your life with my craziness."

Strong arms wrapped around her. "We're doing all right, Jane. Don't worry about it." He glanced at her chrono. "We can catch a ninety minute nap before Wrex interrupts."

"Let's finish the ice cream first." Resting her head on his massive chest, she accepted a spoonful of the melty strawberry schnapps-vanilla mash. "I really am sorry that I'm such a fuck up."

He held out another spoonful. "Shut up and eat your ice cream."

 **The Citadel** 5381:04:21: **35:15:22**

Shepard stepped through the door to Barla Von's office, Frulk pressed hard on her heels. Although she'd usually shove an elbow between his plates for being overprotective, when it came to the volus financial advisor, she appreciated the support.

"Ah, Investigators Shepard and Urdnot," the little fellow said, the words followed by a raspy intake of breath. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Shepard's gut folded into an intricate work of intestinal origami. "Spare me the pleasantries and assorted bullshit, Von. I just need information." She strode the length of the nearly empty office. "Well, and some of those cookies with the jam spot and the butter cream inside." Despite his occupying that office, conveniently close to the embassies—all the better to sell race secrets, my dear—for more than a decade, the place sat bare but for a server, a desk, and a computer terminal. She suspected that Von liked to keep things so that he could burn down the house and run in under five minutes.

"Yes, I've heard that you've been given a very special assignment." Between taking wheezing inhales every three words and playing coy, it always took the bastard a week to say anything meaningful. He lifted a hand, his mechanical fingers beckoning. "Please, do come in. I believe we can come to some sort of arrangement."

Shepard closed on him fast enough to back him up a step when she loomed over him. "Here's the arrangement, Von. I ask you to give me all the information you have on David Anderson and the lystheni, and then—here's the really brilliant part of the plan—you give it to me." She nodded, then cocked her head and looked back at Frulk. "That sounds like a truly inspired arrangement, doesn't it?"

The krogan chuckled, two low grunts of menace rather than mirth. "Better than the slave trading scum deserves." He circled Von's desk, coming in behind the volus.

Von drew himself up, looking more like an agitated pufferfish than a badass. Still, Shepard knew better than to underestimate the financier. She'd only needed one experience to drill that home.

"I don't have anything to do with slavery," he protested. "You should know better than anyone, Shepard." His fingers twitched a little, his hand moving toward what she knew was a panic button: knowledge also gained during that one particular experience.

Shepard nodded and lifted a leg to sit on the corner of his desk, blocking his access to the button. Making a show of organizing the detritus on his desk, she paused to read a couple of messages and datapads. After nearly two minutes of listening to the volus bluster and moan, she nodded and looked up at Frulk. "It's true, isn't it? I have been zealous and extremely thorough in my investigation of this particular scumbag."

Frulk nodded and sighed. "I've heard that happens a lot when the scumbag in question welcomes you to your first day in C-Sec by setting a pack of attack varren on you." Leaning back on one hip, he crossed his arms.

Shepard chuckled and reached up to trace the long lines of scarring that outlined varren jaws on both sides of her head and down onto her neck on the right side. "That's true." She let out a long sigh and shook her head. "I don't know," she said, slathering on a thick layer of false regret, "maybe I have been too hard on you, Von." Reaching up to rake a hand through her hair on the way to rubbing the back of her neck, she nodded, thoughtful … considering even.

"You know, maybe you truly aren't a slick motherfucker of a con man who helps the super-rich hide their sins. Maybe you don't funnel slaves through back channels to brothels and mining camps for the matriarchs of the AY gangs." She leaned down, bracing a forearm across her thigh. "Maybe."

Striking rattlesnake quick, she grabbed his intake breather hose, yanking him toward her until her nose brushed the side of his mask. "But then again, maybe you are everything I suspect you of being." Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "And maybe, I do the galaxy a favour by punching a hole in your very fine suit before dragging you the long way through the financial district to find someone to repair it."

The volus struggled. "Investigator Shepard, I—"

"That would certainly send a message to clients," Frulk agreed, talking straight over the financier's protest or plea. "He'd probably wouldn't get back here to burn his records and then escape before at least one of the matriarchs got to him."

"Shepard! I can—" Von jerked free and stumbled backwards, right into Frulk's hands.

Shepard nodded and let out another, just slightly regretful sigh. "I hear when an ardat yakshi kills you, you come so hard in those last seconds that it's an agony that can't be compared."

Frulk dusted down Von's shoulders hard enough that the little fellow must have felt as though he was a post being pounded into the ground. "That's why their victims always have that twisted, grotesque expression. Some even dislocate joints and break their own bones before they die."

"Please, I have—"

Shaking her head, Shepard tutted softly and deadpanned. "Imagine … muscles seizing so hard they break bone." She shuddered. "And I whinge when I get a charlie horse in my calf."

Frulk chuckled and backed away from Von. "You really are a big baby about that."

A pout tugged at her lower lip as Shepard straightened. "Shut up. It hurts."

"If I might interrupt this very compelling performance," Von said between wheezes, "I have a couple pieces of information that will interest you. While they would fetch premium on the open market, I've been instructed to share them with you." He paused at the end as if waiting for Shepard to thank him or show some sort of appreciation.

She swung her foot, bouncing her heel off his desk, slowly increasing the speed.

He made a vague choking sound, clearly getting the message about where her foot was headed. "The first is that there is a salarian scientist on the Citadel. Apparently, he is seeking asylum in exchange for information on the lystheni."

Shepard shrugged. "And the other?"

Frulk cleared his throat. "It could be others, Shepard," he said, giving her a grin full of teeth like giant chiclets. "Don't limit yourself."

She just blinked at the krogan, swallowing down the smile that tried to force its way out. "True." Refocusing on Von, a laser set to burn straight through his little eye-light-sensor-things, she said, "Out with the rest of it, Von. We've got another appointment."

"Torturing small animals and snatching sweets from infants?" the financier asked, his sudden ballsiness forcing Shepard to choke down a startled laugh.

"Something like that," she replied, lacing her pain-memory through the words in the form of menace, instead. "The rest?"

"Fist," he said simply.

Shepard shrugged. "What about him? He's slime, but small fish. Practically krill, although technically, I think they're crustaceans or something." Frowning, she searched her memory, then nodded. "Yeah, crustaceans … definitely—"

"He's turned on the Shadow Broker and gone to work for David Anderson," Von said, breaking through her debate. For a moment, she considered seeing if she could kick him hard enough to shove her foot up his ass through the suit, but then he continued, "The Shadow Broker has dispatched a mercenary to thank Fist for his loyalty."

Shepard stood and leaned into the desk, the heel of her hand braced against the edge. "And this bounty hunter … excuse me … mercenary gift basket delivery person's name?"

"Samara."

Ice-cold fury and a blast of 140 proof terror shoved Shepard off the desk. She closed on the volus in an instant, jerking him off his feet by the hose on either side of his head. "That name sounds asari, Von," she said, pressing her face into his again. "Tell me the Broker hasn't set an ardat yakshi loose on my station."

Von hung so still in her grip that she suspected him of trying to play dead. "She's a carrier and genophage immune but hasn't manifested the … talent."

"Talent?" Hearing the deliberate emphasis behind the last word, Shepard's grip on his air hoses tightened, every instinct she possessed screaming at her to tear them loose and let the little bastard die painfully. "What those monsters do to their victims is no fucking talent, you little piece of shit. It's an abomination."

"Shepard." Frulk laid a hand over hers, drawing her eyes away from the glowing lights of Von's mask. "He's not worth it." Squeezing her fingers, he nodded toward the door. "We got what we came for."

A short, sharp nod answered him. She still held the reins. "Let go, Frulk." When he did as she asked, she threw Von across the floor. "Watch your step, Von. I'm waiting for an excuse." Turning away before she heard him roll into the wall, Shepard strode out the door. She slapped the door control so hard that her wrist let out a loud, painful crack, the jolt filling her mouth with the taste of cold iron as her nose complained.

"Want me to call a cab?" Frulk asked, jogging beside her to keep up.

She shook her head and held out her hand. She needed to walk, to move, and to numb the fury at least fifty percent before she unsheathed a large blade and shamans turned her loose on hapless opponents.

When Frulk just stared at her hand, she shook it with enough emphasis to drive her point home. And still he asked, "Shepard, are you sure? We're going into the arena in fifteen minutes."

Looking up at him, she laced her stare with a heavy enough dose of "don't forget how frequently this hand wraps around your favourite appendage" that he finally passed over the flask. Practically tearing the stopper right off the thing, she tipped it back, draining half its contents in a single go.

"We should have gone to Tia," he said, easing the flask out of her hands.

"Bullshit," she said, choking a little as the booze burned out the lining of her esophagus, doing its job. "We got the information we needed, and I got out without an alpha varren crushing my skull this time." She elbowed him. "So shut up, suck up your quad, and let's go flatten a krogan or three."

"I hear Gatatog Tros bringing a second and third this time." Frulk grinned and nudged her with his elbow. "They seem to think having a human second is some sort of good luck charm, and that's why we always win."

She managed a smile that broke through the loathing. "Idiots. Don't they know that I am merely an overwhelming occurrence of all things awesome? I can't be duplicated."

A bright grin of mostly relief broke across her face as he coughed. " _Urahat_."

Her commlink beeped. "Damn, it's my work line." She answered. "Bailey, I thought you were sending my assignment to my frame?"

"I'm calling because your investigation just became official. I'm sending the details to your frame, but Spectre David Anderson and an army of lystheni just attacked the turian colony of Aephus and tried to assassinate Spectre Kaidan Alenko. The crew on the ground were led by a turian, a … " Rustling sounds crackled over the link. "... a Commander Garrus Vakarian. They're still fighting on the ground, but I'll keep you updated."

"Thanks, sir. I've already got a couple of leads to follow. I'll keep you in the loop." She closed the channel and looked up at Frulk, meeting his curiosity with a long, gelid sigh. "Well, David Anderson just stopped hiding that he's gone rogue."

 **The Citadel** 5381:04:22: **00:26:03**

Shepard crouched behind the hologram of a fallen tree, her _sikah_ held backwards in her hand, the blade flush with her bare forearm. Closing her eyes, she listened for the sound of their last, surviving opponent, Gatatog Tros. It never ceased to amaze her how stealthy krogan could be, particularly without their armour. Sweat dripped down her neck, soaking the neck of her tank top before running in a stream down her spine to find a home in the waistband of her shorts. The clothes and her combat boots amounted to the only concessions the shamans allowed for being human. When Frulk first asked for her to be his second, it had taken a council meeting to rule that she could wear clothes at all.

Oh! There! A soft, careful footfall. She grinned, her heart speeding up as the _qisan_ walked right into their well-laid trap. She leaned up a little, checking for Frulk, who nodded. Flipping her _sikah_ in her hand, she waited, listening for Frulk to make his move. Since 99% of their opponents out-weighed her four or five to one, she played the rogue, sticking to the shadows, wearing them down with quick attacks followed by even quicker retreats.

The footfalls closed on her position, the krogan close enough now that she could hear his laboured breathing, the low growl rolling beneath it warning her that he bordered on flipping into blood rage. That calmed her heart rate a little, easing her from reckless glee to caution. She and Frulk needed to take it easy, because if their opponent flipped that switch, he'd lose face. _Birinc Qan_ was about staying true to krogan roots without succumbing to the instincts that had all but destroyed the race thousands of cycles prior.

It was also about all the opponents leaving the arena able to hold their heads high. Disgracing a lesser opponent led to resentment and violence outside the arena, negating the entire reason to hold the ritual combat in the first place.

She glanced around her cover to warn Frulk, but her partner leaped out, the plan already in motion. Damn. Well, all she could do was to stick to the script and pray they took Gatatog Tros out before the switch flipped inside his head. Frulk appeared before their opponent, attacking head on. Slipping in from behind, Shepard moved fast, her _sikah_ flashing black and deadly in her hand. Two slices took out the tendons behind his knees, another two disabled his ankles, and he went down.

Yes! Shepard rolled clear and stood, eyes turning to the timer. Felled opponents had fifteen seconds to regenerate enough to get back up before the shamans ruled them defeated.

Seven … six … .

A bloodthirsty roar punched straight into Shepard's guts, grabbed hold of a good two metres of her intestines, and ripped them out through her navel. "Fuck." She looked to Frulk, who was already moving, backing away to give Tros space to get control. Instead of backing away, Shepard ducked into the forest background, taking cover behind a tree.

It wouldn't help hide her. Once blood rage set in, krogan rarely used sight to target anyway, depending more on smell and their uncanny, almost sixth sense for finding their prey. But, not being able to see her right away might throw him off enough for Frulk to subdue or distract him.

"Tros, get control of it." Speak of the devil. Frulk to the rescue. "Don't dishonour yourself or your clan this way."

"Bringing a human into a krogan rite!" Tros bellowed. "You disgrace us all."

"Oh shit." Shepard peeked out. Frulk backed away, his _sikah_ sheathed, his hands at his sides. Tros stumbled up onto his feet, the tendons clearly not healed: one foot was bent underneath the wrong way. Her gut fell as she heard the joint snap when he put his full weight on it. There'd be no talking him down. He had a bone to pick, and he fully intended to club them both over the head with it.

"Think, Shepard." Krogan weak points … all the usual suspects: joints, mostly. But that wouldn't incapacitate him enough. Blood rage almost always ended in death one way or the other, and that option didn't even deserve room inside her head. So … she needed to think and fast.

"Where is she?" Tros turned, searching for Shepard, but before he turned around far enough to see her leaning out of her cover, Frulk lunged at him, no _sikah_ , just grappling. After a second, she saw his intention: to get Tros's _sikah_ away from him. Whether he proved successful or not, their scuffle gave her a window of opportunity for one really, just massively stupid idea.

Taking a deep breath, she sprinted out of cover, raced up behind Tros, and, planting one foot on the calf of his buckled leg, leapt up onto his hump. "Holy Jesus fuck. Shell … spikey bits … owww." She grunted and moaned as he heaved under her, thrashing hard enough that the pointy protrusions dug in, breaking her skin. Still, she clung to his hump like a tick, reaching around his neck with her left arm to find his dorsal carotid artery. When his pulse thumped hard and fast against her middle finger, she pressed down. Hard. Once she secured her grip on that side, she did the same on the right.

"Dear god, let this work," she whispered, the words slicing out between clenched teeth. She could feel the blood trickling down her front side. Damn, what a fucking day.

Tros floundered, going down on his bad leg, the jolt sending Shepard scrambling to hang on, but she managed to maintain the pressure and prayed that her take down training had been right about how slowly blood flow fully transferred from one set of arteries to the other. The krogan stumbled again, going all the way down that time. She held on until he flopped over onto his left side, straight onto her.

A sort of half crunch, half crack accompanied the scream of agony from her shoulder, Tros crushing it between his hump and the deck plating. Gasping, unable to draw a breath, she searched for Frulk, but then he was there. He rolled Tros off her mangled body … her brain said corpse at first, considering the amount of pain, but gradually it eased back and agreed with her that it remained a body.

" _Rahat_ , Shepard." Frulk's hands gently checked over the many small bleeds and then her shoulder. "It's dislocated." He chuckled and held out a hand to help her up. "Looks like your after quickie is going to be with the doc tonight."

Shepard grinned, then groaned and leaned into his support. "That's awesome, because Chloe Michel is a hottie. I mean … wow. That accent … please. Don't get me started." She let out a long sigh, and then another, longer one. "You know, hun … today makes me a believer in karma, and what a bitch she can be." She stopped and held up her good arm. "Carry me, I'm pathetic, and I just settled so many lifetimes of bad karma that I'm paid up all the way back to when I was Rreeeooorrwwwxxzl … grwwwllll ... the T-rex."

 **An hour, one joint reset, enough medigel to heal an entire army (according to Dr. Chloe Michel, an admittedly biased source), a shot of painkillers, three drinks, and as much feast-ey food as Wrex could pack into Shepard later.**

"My son will never take part in the choosing," Wrex said, his voice pitched low to remain between the two of them. He leaned into her, wrapping his arm over the back of her chair.

Shepard scowled, confused, and more than a little unsteady. The room behind the krogan justicar seemed to rotate, no … more like rock. Like that time her family went sailing on Earth. God, that was an amazing month. Even her father managed to leave his usual douchie … douched-ness on shore.

"Shepard?"

She focused on the foggy carmine eyes staring her down. "Wrex?" Dread drifted through the confusion, but why? She loved Wrex. Wrex loved her. They were cool. At least, she thought they were cool.

"As long as you remain in his life, my son will never stand next to a _qadin_ over a clutch of eggs and choose the one he wishes to instill with life." The justicar leaned back in his massive chair, the leather creaking beneath him. "His mother and I will never stand at his side as he eases that life from its egg to become the next justicar or shaman."

She made a face and shook her head, then wished she hadn't. Barf control team on standby. "Of course he will. Frulk's just not ready to settle down. One day—" She swallowed. Barf control team standing down.

"Shepard!" Although not loud, the rumble sliced off everything she intended to say, and pushed back the fogginess of the alcohol to an unpleasant degree. "Unless you are by his side over that clutch, it will never happen."

"I think about it, sometimes, you know?" She nodded when he narrowed his eyes at her. "I do." A noisy sigh escaped her nose, and she winced, one hand lifting to shield it. "Sometimes I want nothing more than to pick out eggs; help them hatch at his side; raise adorable, rolling bundles."

"But?"

She shrugged. "I'm not ready, Wrex. I'm not even thirty. With good maintenance and health care, and barring bullets, I've got another century and a half or so left to take the domestic path."

" _Urahat_!" His turn to face down her narrow-eyed glare. "You're scared." Stabbing a sticky roll, flinging bits of sugary syrup with every gesture, he tilted his chin up, a clear challenge to deny what he said. "It's easy to see why. Mother driven to suicide by her own weakness and the cruelties of a bastard husband. Bastard father beats the _rahat_ out of you, tears you down." He leaned into her again, plopping the roll down on her plate. "But you're a big girl, Shepard. You know you don't have to wallow in their _rahat_."

Shepard pushed her plate away. "So, what's the message here? Either fish or cut bait? Bond with Frulk or walk away from him?" She laughed and shook her head. "He's my best friend, and frankly, Wrex, I didn't see this shit coming from you." Pushing her chair away from the table, she stood, stumbling back a couple of steps before catching herself on the back of the next seat. "Thanks for finally telling me the truth."

Wrex jumped up and grabbed her by the shoulders, not loosening his hold when she yelped. "Maybe I happen to love this idiot of a kid and hate watching her screwing up her life. Stuck alone, searching, hip deep in quicksand." He pulled her into a rough hug, eliciting another gasp of pain. Fuck, shoulder dislocating again. "Maybe I think she knows what will make her happy, but for some damned reason, she stays stuck because she thinks she needs to be punished for something that was never her fault."

"Wrex? Shepard?" Frulk's tone asked what was going on even though he merely said their names, keeping back.

Wrex released Shepard, giving her a gentle push toward his son. "You two showed great honour tonight. Take her home. Get some sleep."

"Yes, sir." Frulk caught Shepard, his hands gentle on her shoulders as he helped her balance. He faced his father, Shepard watching silently as the two of them bumped crests, the closest krogan males came to a grotesque display of public affection. "Goodnight, Wrex."

Shepard said nothing, letting Frulk gather her in against his side. What an intensely fucked up day. She felt as though God—with the big G—or whatever other joker lurked out there, had decided Jane "Dog-Bite" Shepard had needed an entire year's worth of shit dumped on her in less than a day.

"Call a cab this time?" Frulk asked, doing so when she replied with a tiny nod. When the cab arrived and he settled into the driver's seat, she abandoned hers to climb into his lap, curling up in his arms.

"Thanks, Shepard," he said, no heat in his voice and no trace of sarcasm, although clearly that was what he was going for, "it's very easy to drive this way."

"Wrex thinks I'm stopping you from having a family," she whispered, curling into him, her head tucked in against his neck.

"You're not. Don't worry about it." He programmed the car around her, then wrapped her in gentle arms. "Well, you are, but you still don't need to worry about it. I'm not pining for a mate and children." He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. "Go to sleep. You can rest up for the big walk to your apartment."

"Big walk," she agreed, not quite sure how she'd manage it. Maybe he'd take pity and carry her.

Still, when the car landed, he helped her out and walked her just to the door. Staring through the glass, the journey up to her apartment didn't just seem long, it seemed impossibly lonely, as if every step would strip away another layer of her barriers, and then eat through her carefully constructed armour. Normally, she insisted on going up alone. They had their fun, they spent their time, and then she went home alone to enjoy the peace, all the space in the bed, and nice, cool sheets.

"Good night, Shepard. I'll drop by with coffee in the morning." He stroked a hand over her hair, then leaned down to tap his crest to her brow. "Hope you can move in the morning; we've got leads to track down."

As he turned away, she reached out, snagging his hand. Not tonight. Tonight she wanted an arm draped over her, breath on her neck … even damned warm sheets. "Frulk? Stay? Please."

He turned back, expression dubious. "What? You never ask me …."

She tugged at his hand, suddenly desperate, and just as suddenly not giving the slightest shit about how desperate she felt. "Come up. The sheets'll be too cold, and I hurt." A slow grin warmed her face as he shook his head, the slight wrinkles around his eyes telling her what he'd decided. And then the desperation began to melt away.

"The sheets will be cold?" he said, chuckling. "That's the best you could do? I need a bed warmer?" But when she pulled on him, coaxing him through the door, he turned back to send the cab away, then followed her inside. "Bed warmer."

She elbowed him, the warmth spreading far enough that even some of the pain dialled back. "Shut up."

* * *

(A-N: Soooo, been super nervous about unleashing the real Dog-Bite on the universe, so I hope no one lost their eyesight or died from terminal blushing. This is her. This is how she burst into my head ... cussing a storm, eating and drinking to excess, and yes ... she loves sex. She's very casual about it, and unapologetic, so I'm sorta in love with it, and her ... as much as she makes me blush as I write down the words she gives me. In the end, yeah, I love the heck out of her, and hope that you lovely readers will as well.

Anyway, love to all, and thanks so much for your support. You all rock!)


	7. Chapter 7

**Tipah** \- Quarian female of the age of majority.

 **Nais** \- Asari of the age of majority

Turian time is expressed in a digital form in descending order. Example: 5381:04:20:26:19:09 is the date of the attack on Aephus down to the Ahtrix (second). **Expressed in turian terms:** **Cycle** (year): **Tadecem** (month): **Luxin** (day): **Orhan** (hour): **Sextim** (minute): **Ahtrix** (second)

 **The Citadel** 5381:04:22: **15:26:03 (While Garrus was sleeping … the first time.)**

Shepard drifted back to consciousness, far too warm and safe feeling to feel any urgency about wrestling all the way from sleep's embrace. Instead she rolled over, curled into Frulk's grip when he wrapped his arms around her, and drifted back to sleep.

The second time Shepard awoke, nature screamed at her at a volume sufficient to launch her out of bed, sending her hobbling to the bathroom. Each step hurt in a kaleidoscope of different ways, so many body parts telling her off at once that they just blurred into a constantly shifting fog of misery. She folded onto the toilet, yelping and bolting upright when her skin hit the cold seat.

"Fuck me!" Once the shock wore off, the ice in her spine melted, allowing her to just keep folding until her brow pressed against one knee. "Fly across … galaxy … still can't ... warm toil …." Her arms hung down, knuckles scraping the floor.

"Jane," Frulk called, rousing her, "are you all right in there?"

She lifted her head a little, smacking her lips as she swiped the drool from the corner of her mouth. "I died," she grumbled back, shoving herself upright. "And I'm pissed you didn't notice." Judging by the lack of feeling in her legs and the stiffness in her back, she'd actually fallen asleep there, and not just for a minute or two. She managed to struggle up onto her feet, stalling halfway, one hand braced against the wall. "I can't make it back to bed. I can't get my legs to move. Help! Quick!"

Frulk's laugh pulled a wry smile across her face. "You've been in there for … " The bed creaked once. "... nearly an hour. You fell asleep, didn't you?" Her bed creaked a couple more times, and then the door eased open, her best friend peering around it. When he saw her, he grinned, wide and toothy. "If Gatatog Tros could see this, he'd feel vindicated." Stepping around the door, he wrapped one arm around her back, the other scooping under her knees, lifting her effortlessly. "Look at you. You're one, massive bruise. How are you going to function?"

When he laid her down on the mattress, she curled into a ball of misery. "From bed until the drugs kick in." She smiled and reached up to caress his face when he covered her up. "Thanks. You're the best." Before he could join her, she rolled over, diving into her nightstand drawer and rummaging until she wrapped her hand around her bottle of pain meds. She reached for the discarded bottle of schnapps, but Frulk snatched it from her hand.

"I'll get you some juice," he said, grumbling. "You know, using disgusting, cheap schnapps first thing in the morning to wash down a handful of pain pills is a pretty strong sign something's not right in your life, Jane." Taking the bottle with him, he strode out the door, his claws ticking on the tile floor as he crossed to the kitchen.

"Shut up. There's nothing wrong with my life other than a deplorable excess of busybody know-it-alls who think they can tell me how to do it better." She rolled onto her back and twisted the bottle open, popping three of the caplets into her mouth. "Better hurry, they're melting, and they taste like shit."

He returned, passing her a glass of red grapefruit juice before sitting next to her. "We slept way too long, but I vote we give those pills an hour to work before we do anything more ambitious than blink." He sorted his pillows, then kicked his feet up, reclining against them. "Some news? See what the galaxy's been up to since last night?"

She winked at him over the rim of her glass as she guzzled down the juice, letting out a loud, satisfied sigh when she'd drained it. "Better than cheap schnapps any day." Forcing herself up, she piled some of the many pillows behind her back. "We shouldn't let Anderson get much more of a head start. Who knows where he's going to go or what he's going to be up to after Aephus."

Frulk held out the remote, turning up the sound on her vid screen. "Judging by this, licking his wounds for a little while. Damn, Vakarian and Alenko kicked his ass hard."

Shepard stared at the footage of dead civilians, buildings either torched or still on fire, dead salarian-looking bodies in armour … a horrific gluttony of devastation. "I don't know how much of that mess the good guys are going to want to claim," she whispered. "Fucking hell."

When the news moved on to the day before's biotiball scores, Shepard opened her omnitool. She did a search for Samara, the bounty hunter Barla Von told them about the night before. It took a little doing, because the asari was notoriously paranoid and got most of her contracts via word of mouth alone. Still, she had herself a hell of an arrest record, and the odd outpost and colony who'd arrested her shared records with C-Sec.

"Huh," Frulk grunted. "Tough looking _nais_. I wouldn't scrap with her unless I had to." He bumped Shepard gently, smiling when she glanced up at him. "What?" he asked when she didn't respond, her guts too frozen to even try to force an answering smile.

"She's got a red warning on her biotics. Reave." Shepard cussed, the chunk of ice in her belly flipping over. "It's no fucking better than the AYs … stripping someone's life away, feeding off it to power and heal herself." A shudder heavy enough to make the bed creak ripped down through her. "I don't want to use her for information. I don't want to follow her or partner with her in any way." She slid a little further down in bed and pulled the covers up under her chin. "I just want to put a bullet through her head and then nuke her from orbit."

Frulk wrapped an arm around her, tucking her in against his side. "It's the only way to be sure," he said, whispering the familiar joke against her hair. "Look, enter her biometrics and neural frame frequency into the security camera recog program. They'll alert us when she get here and where she goes. If she sets even a toe over the line, we'll deal with it."

She entered the information into the security system, then closed her tool and curled into him. "I know every asari isn't dangerous," she whispered, laying her head on his arm. "I know AY positives are a lot more rare all the time because of the genophage, but …. One of those bitches called herself a spiritual healer, looked at my pathetic, hurting mother and agreed to tear the life right out of her rather than getting her real help." She looked up into his eyes. "How am I supposed to trust any of them? How do I stop hating them?"

Frulk hugged her close, his body deliciously warm and his touch gentle. "You can't. Not until you forgive yourself for not seeing it, Jane." He nuzzled the scars up the side of her face. "I'm going to go make us some breakfast. You see if you can find any trace of our mystery salarian."

Shepard nodded, then leaned up, bracing herself against his chest. "You really are the best." She kissed him, then sat up. "There aren't many salarians on the Citadel at any time, so this shouldn't be too hard, right?" Reactivating her omnitool, she synced it to her frame to speed up the search. "He's on the run, so he's going to avoid crowds."

Frulk sat up on the side of the bed. "Von said he's a researcher, so he's not going to be really young." He glanced back. "Eighteen, anyway." Standing, he didn't bother with his clothes, just headed out to the kitchen.

"True nuff," Shepard said. "And if he's reaching middle age and a scientist, he's going to have researched the station even if he hasn't been here before." She input search parameters even as she talked. "So, he'll know the most camera intensive routes, crowd flow, and most likely places to find help … so lower wards it is."

"If he's trying to sell information on the lystheni, he's on the run from Anderson. He'll want to blend, and with people like that after him, we won't have long to find him before we're finding his corpse," Frulk called over the noise of piling her dishes in the sink. "So Zakera ward, most likely. It's the most dangerous ward, but it's also the one with the greatest racial mix and most transitory population."

Shepard laughed. "You're good at this. Are you a cop or something?" She input the data, narrowing it down to places frequently used by salarian exchange students when they came for their mandatory cycle of extra-fleet study. Student or not, high salarian population areas offered his best chance to blend in. It took her frame three point zero zero four eight seconds to find her a couple of likely suspects. "Got a couple of salarians here who look like they're staying in a different hostel or hotel every night, and they've been checking out information brokers, security brokers, data delivery services. One of them went to the Eclipse looking to hire bodyguards." Wincing, she clicked her tongue against the side of her mouth. "Oh, buddy, you're making a mistake there." She sighed and filed the data, setting the program to continue updating. "If he's either of these fellows, it doesn't look like he's getting anywhere, so that's a firm on the finding a corpse if we don't locate him soon."

After a second, she actually registered the sounds coming from the other room and clambered out from under the blankets to head out into the kitchen. "What the fuck? You don't have to wash my dishes, Frulk. Jesus."

He just chuckled and flicked bubbles at her. "I do if I want to cook anything."

Shepard padded past him, tugging on his tail on her way to the cupboard. "I've got a five pound bag of cereal marshmallows. We don't need to cook." Pulling down the bag, she undid the zipper and reached in. "Morning sugar rush for the win!" She only managed to grab a few before he snatched it away, resealed it and stuck it up on the top shelf. "Hey!"

"That's not breakfast," he said, rumbling as he closed the cupboard door. When she tried to go around him, he slapped away her fingers. "Go get dressed." He laughed, low and hearty, when she pouted and slammed her arms down over her bare chest.

"I knew there was a reason I never asked you to stay." She sighed and started toward the bedroom, twirling away from him when he tried to wrap his arm around her. "Nope, no funny business while you're acting like my nanny. It would be too weird."

The doorbell rang, saving her from having to invent a diatribe on the subject. She wandered over, peered at the little viewscreen, her heart speeding up when she recognized the uniform of her favourite delivery service. "Oh! It's the new mod for my sidearm." Cackling, she unlocked the door, and reached out. "Pass my baby over." She grabbed the box from the delivery boy's hands and hugged it. "My custom tooled built-in-silencer, extended, high calibre barrel! Yes! I've been saving for you for five months. Come here beautiful."

The delivery boy, a human about twenty, stood there, frozen, staring at her. "Uh, miss? Do you need me to call someone?"

She tucked the box under her arm. "What's the damage, kid?" She frowned, meeting his stare. "What? Why would you need to call anyone?"

"You're completely naked, Jane," Frulk shouted from the kitchen, "and you look like you've had the crap beaten out of you."

She looked down, then grinned at her obliviousness. "Oh. Yeah, sorry, dude." She activated her omnitool. "Don't worry, I'm C-Sec, and this … " She gestured toward the bruising. "... hundred and twenty-year-old granny, fifty-three tiny dogs, and a really mean cane arm. But thanks for saying something; the next person might need the help. You're my hero." She brought up her credit account. "So, what do I owe you?"

He swallowed a couple of times, actually starting to make Shepard feel a little awkward before he stuttered out. "Fifty-eight credits." He managed a thin chuckle as she swiped his terminal, paying him. "Now I know what Donovan meant by the best tipper on the client list."

Shepard's neighbour walked out of the next apartment down. The officer grinned; she liked Sophia. Sometimes the exotic dancer helped her with makeup and clothes for her dodgier undercover jobs. "Morning, Sophia," she called after the woman. "Heading for work?"

"I sure am, and you're naked again, sweetie," the brunette replied, completely deadpan. She waved, a single hand lift over her head. "Have a good day. Catch the bad guys."

"Thanks, I'll do my best." Shepard looked to the delivery boy. "All set?" Then it hit her. Sophia! She dodged the delivery boy and ran down the hall, the short, industrial carpet harsh against the soles of her feet. And damn, didn't they heat the hallways? Goose pimples galore. Not to mention that after about five metres, someone could have used her nipples as industrial cutting tools. "Sophia! Are you working at Chora's Den today?"

"Yes, why?" The dancer stopped and turned back. After a second, she grinned, sighed, and shook her head. "Who knew that I'd see more tits and ass in the hallway at home than I would working all day?"

Shepard shrugged. "Sorry." She swiped screens on her omnitool. "If I give you a picture and a description, can you call me if this asari comes in? She needs to see Fist, and I need to see her before she sees Fist." Meeting the woman's dark grey eyes, she tried to pour as much charming eccentricity into her pleading gaze as possible.

Sophia nodded, grabbing the details on her tool. "If I see her, do I send Triz and Maklor to get between her and Fist?" The dancer winced as she opened the picture. "Tough looking, wow. She's not … ." She shrugged, infected with the same superstition as most of the rest of the galaxy.

Shepard gripped the woman's shoulder, not wanting to scare her, but needing Sophia to understand the situation. "No, she's clear, just completely bad ass, so get the bouncers between her and Fist, and then keep out of her way and call me."

The delivery guy squeezed by, nodding to Shepard and Sophia. "Have a good day, ladies." He winked, lewdly enough to make Shepard suspect he was imagining them licking honey off one another's nipples. Cheeky bugger! After imagining it herself for a half-second, she shook it off. Definitely not the time.

Scowling without any real heat, she took a swat at the back of his head, missing by a klick as he laughed and scooted ahead. "You get your mind out of the gutter and have a good day too."

"So, regular fee?" Sophia asked, closing her omnitool.

"Yeah. I'll send it when I'm not standing naked in the hallway." Shepard backed toward her door. "Have a great day, and thanks."

Sophia turned and hurried toward the elevator. "You bet. See you later."

Shepard returned to her apartment, shoving the door shut with her hip, her hands already occupied with prying into her package. Bubble wrap hit the floor as she ripped it out and dropped it. Excitement underscored with a sliver of lust greeted the gleam of the near-black, polished-tungsten barrel, it's length decorated in cobalt-blue anodized titanium celtic knotwork. "Oh my dear and fluffy lord, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!" She shredded the plastic in her haste to break it free.

Half a year of squirreling away her 'buy a ship and get the hell out of here' money sat in her hands, the last piece she needed to assemble the pistol of her dreams. "So worth it," she whispered, trailing her fingers over the trim.

Frulk shattered her pleasant gun-porn buzz. "Don't the silencer and extra barrel-length break C-Sec regs?" He leaned over to look at it. "Pretty, though. It's going to get your piece stolen." He nuzzled from the swell of her breast up to her ear as he straightened.

"No one's going to inspect my sidearm," she said, setting everything down on the table, "and stop killing my tingly gun buzz, dude." Turning to face him, she grinned and slid her hands over his chest when he pulled her in against his body. "I thought you were making breakfast, not getting frisky." She traced the edge of his crest with gentle fingers, grinning as the low rumble rolling in his throat headed straight for her groin. "We could skip making food and get some downstairs. They have a decent breakfast."

Frulk backed away. "We could, but I'm still going to finish the dishes. When I've got these washed up, you want to join me in the shower?" He leveled a wide, lewd grin at her. "You can thank me for taking such good care of you."

"By ruining my appetite?" Chuckling, she backed toward her bedroom, swinging her hips with each slow, exaggerated step.

A rolling laugh answered her. "It's the shower, I can always make a mess." He blew a handful of suds at her. "It'll wash off."

"Like I'd let you make a mess. We're not savages." She performed a quick, jaunty twirl, popped one arm into the air, and then trotted into her room to retrieve her side arm from her safe.

Just inside the door, she stopped to look over the disaster left behind from the night before. "Shit, Shepard," she muttered under her breath, "you live like one of the vorcha down in the guts of the station." She stripped the bed and replaced the sheets, then chucked all the detritus from the night before into the bin for the recyclers. Once her room looked like a human with some small understanding of hygiene lived there, she returned to the dining room to switch out her barrels.

 **The Citadel** 5381:04:22: **17:30:12 (While Garrus takes his second nap.)**

Club music thumped against the inside of Shepard's head as she stepped through the door to Chora's Den, one of the seedier gentlemen's clubs in the wards. She worked lower Zakera a lot and knew most of the employees on a first name basis, so she naturally gravitated there on her time off. Although she didn't get much out of watching the dancers, she liked the company when she wanted it and the fact that pretty much everyone left her the hell alone when she didn't.

She turned left, circling the perimeter, weaving between sticky tables around the outside and the bodies glistening with sweat and desperation as they gyrated in every open spot they could find. Musk, smoke, and the cloying sweetness of stale booze lined the inside of her nose. Warm, sweaty fingertips dragged down the back of her neck as she realized how many compartments of her life dripped with that stench. Clearly the alarm had gone off at "time to get the fuck out" o'clock, but she'd been too buried in catching the next scumbag to hear it.

Soon, she promised herself. Soon the scent of ozone and the cool emptiness of space would wash all those sticky-carpeted, stained, and used up compartments clean. But for the moment, she needed to concentrate on the rogue Spectre who'd just destroyed a turian colony. She looked up, searching for Samara or Sophia. The dancer had called less than twenty minutes before to say report Samara's arrival, but said the bounty hunter showed no interest in Fist at all.

Then Shepard saw the bounty hunter. Across the club, leaning against the back bar, the asari watched the crowd, her face sculpted into a permanent sneer thanks to three massive scars carved down the right side from her scalp crests down her neck. If Shepard had ever seen a meaner looking bounty hunter, she couldn't remember it. And yet, she saw a fierce sort of beauty beneath the scars and tattoos.

Taking a deep breath to calm the nauseated roll tying knots in her belly, Shepard glanced at Frulk. After entering a few minutes before her, he'd taken up position near the hallway leading to Fist's office. He nodded, and leaned against a table, nursing a grape juice, ready to back her up if Samara misbehaved. When she passed him, his fingers stroked down her spine, earning him a grateful smile.

All right, time to make her move. She girded her loins and set out toward the bar.

About halfway there, a human and a quarian stumbled around in the middle of the floor, pawing one another out of their clothing as they "danced". Despite appreciating their fearless ardour, Shepard laid a hand on their shoulders. "Ladies," she shouted over the deafening music, "as much as I'd love to pad my bank account by charging all these people ten credits for the show, there are back rooms for when you just have to strip down."

"You a cop?" the quarian asked, slamming purple tits into Shepard's chest, trying to shove the C-Sec officer away with bravado and probably a little too much of some regulated substance. In the low light, her eyes reflected too strongly for Shepard to see what colour they were.

Admiring the young _tipah's_ spunk, Shepard chuckled and flashed her badge. "Yeah, in fact. So cover up those almost illegally perky tits, and head for a back room." She turned them both and gave them a little push to start them on their way. "Have fun, kids."

Before she even turned back toward her destination, Shepard could feel the asari's eyes on her. Good. The kids sexing one another up in the middle of the club provided an opportune chance to test the bounty hunter a little by making an obvious cop play. Samara didn't shift or show any reaction at all, other than focusing her attention on Shepard.

Holding the asari's stare, Shepard closed the distance between them. "Samara?" She wriggled in against the bar, shoving aside a krogan and a turian who lunged at her until her badge appeared in their faces.

The turian leaned in, his breath rank with horosk. "Damned humans. Pushy bastards." He wobbled into her, catching himself by planting a hand on her head. He leered down at her. "You're short."

"And that damned rancid swill you've been drinking is going to put you into a coma if you don't slow down." She slapped his hand off her head and looked past him to the krogan. "He with you? If he is, get him home before he ends up shanked in an alley and the scavengers eat him before he's dead."

The krogan grunted and slung an arm around his friend's cowl, dragging him into the hedonist sea of bodies, booze, and blissful abandon. If only they knew how large a pile of unsolved murders and disappearances cluttered up her desk from Chora's Den alone. "Welcome to the suppurating hemorrhoid on the station's ass," she muttered, knowing the morning would see Ridgefield and Frulk investigating another bloodied body.

When Shepard turned back to the asari, she expected the _nais_ to have left, but two powder-blue eyes stared at her, even and unperturbed. "Samara?" she asked again, something in the asari's stare untying a few of the knots tied in her gut. Whatever she'd expected from the _nais's_ rap sheet and reputation, the bounty hunter before her was a different creature altogether.

"Who wants to know?" Samara asked, her voice carrying over the thundering music without lifting into a shout. One elegant, almost regal, gesture summoned the bartender, who replaced Samara's empty glass with a full one. She sipped half the shot down, her eyes never leaving Shepard's, her expression curious but calm, even serene, throwing Shepard off.

Never mind, she'd dealt with her share of cool customers over the years. "I'm Senior C-Sec Investigator Jane Shepard. An acquaintance told me that you've been hired to deliver an employee loyalty package to Fist. I need you to hold off on delivering it."

The nais finished her shot, then glanced at the bartender, "Thessian sky, please." She drained half of her new shot, then sighed. "I'll forgive your ignorance, Officer, because your experience is restricted to amateurs and idiots whose work suffers from a level of incompetence that allows you to catch them. However, I have no intentions of killing Fist here or today." A wry sort of smile contorted her face, the scars twisting it into something almost ghastly. Still, Shepard's fear continued to back down, her instincts reassuring her. Despite looking the part, Samara was no monster.

" _You_ might fight through someone's bodyguards just to shoot them in front of a barful of witnesses, Senior Investigator Shepard, but you have a badge to shield you." The asari tossed back the last of the pale blue shot: it smelled of coconut and mango. "If I were to do the same, I would be arrested immediately and arraigned before dawn. Jail is not where I wish to spend the night."

She looked past Shepard, drawing the officer's attention to the quarian-human couple. They'd stalled part way to the back rooms, their blouses, jackets and trousers open, the quarian's skirt up around her waist, the human's hand busy between the pale lavender thighs. "Oh for the love of …." Shepard turned her back on them, letting the bouncers deal with it.

The asari cocked her head, but didn't turn away from the show. "My bed at the hotel is far too comfortable." A quick glance flicked Shepard's way. "So, why the courtesy call? You don't seem overly concerned with stopping me from killing Fist."

Shepard leaned against the bar, regretting it immediately as her elbow slid through something sticky. "Fuck! Not the leather." She held her hand out to the bartender, taking the wet cloth the turian held out to her. "Thanks, Nerali." Scrubbing at her sleeve, she glanced back at Samara. "I don't care if you kill the pimple. Hell, I'll help you if you give me a few days before you make your move."

She wiped the counter, then passed the cloth back. "Thanks, you're a lifesaver." She lifted a hip onto the bar stool and rested her arm along the bar. "Look, I need to squeeze Fist like an ingrown hair, but once he tells me what I need to know, you can pop him. One less annoying infection in the galaxy."

The asari stared at her, the gaze dragging on long enough to send shivers of unease crawling down Shepard's spine. The sheer age and experience behind Samara's stare left her feeling strapped to a vivisection table under a microscope. "Anderson and the lystheni," the asari said, nodding as if she'd just plucked the information out of Shepard's head.

Shepard said nothing but slid off the stool, putting another few centimetres between them, as if an extra scrap of air might make some difference. "My investigation is not—"

Samara cut her off with a genteel wave that might have dismissed a servant in another life. "There's no need to be alarmed, I didn't read your mind or anything so superstitious or offensive." A long-fingered hand traced the scars over her scalp. "I merely connected several clues available to me. You need to speak to Fist, and you know why I am here, therefore, you know he has changed allegiances. The whole galaxy is aware of the turian claims that Spectre Anderson attacked Aephus in the company of an army of lystheni."

Shepard's alarm calmed. Nothing mystical to using her head. "I need to speak to Fist, but not here. I need to get him—" Seeing the asari bristle, Shepard spun, searching for the reason. She found it in a small group of three asari and four salarians in full armour. Lystheni. Salarians from the flotilla never bothered to hide their identities.

When she looked back at Samara, the bounty hunter's pale blue skin gleamed almost bone white, even under the lights, and the fist holding her empty shot glass trembled with a grip strong enough to shatter even such thick glass. And then the reaction disappeared, brushed over by a curtain of cool, calm disinterest. The quick reversal pinged Shepard's alarms, sending a quick shot of adrenaline burning through her veins.

"What is it?" Shepard asked, turning in time to see the small cluster of people file between Fist's bodyguards, headed to the low-life's office. "Are they ardat yakshi?" Her hand drifted toward her sidearm's hiding place inside her coat even though she'd never open fire in a crowd.

Samara shook her head. "No. Two are delivery people … my competitors. The third asari shouldn't be here. The last time I saw her, she … ." The sentence drifted off. Shepard thought the asari finished, but then the _nais_ spun to face her. "Some ardat yakshi believe they are the purest form of the asari race … that their sterility means they are the pinnacle of our evolution. They reject technological and genetic upgrading because it makes them less perfect. Their doctrine also claims they are meant to be a ruling class, above the mean concerns of everyone else."

The words blast froze Shepard in place. Anderson's baseline beliefs, the lystheni, and now ardat yakshi purity cults? The only body part still functioning, her heart, raced like a rabbit falling under a falcon's shadow. "Where … ?" Shepard asked, stuttering for a second before an intelligent question appeared in her head "How widespread is this cult?"

The bounty hunter stiffened, her jaw clenching, and slammed the shot glass down on the bar, shattering it. "The Nightwind Treaty ordered all ardat yakshi into cloisters away from populated areas." Samara plucked a chunk of glass out of her palm and clamped her fist around a handful of napkins. "We all know how well the relocation went. Those who did end up in these monasteries resented the loss of their freedom, and over the centuries their new religion formed. Understand, not all monasteries are infected with this pseudo-religion, and not all those living within infected monasteries actually follow their doctrine, but many do."

Eyes turning back toward the entry to Fist's office, Shepard shook off her paralysis. "They're not going in there to kill Fist, are they?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the pulsing music.

"No, the Shadow Broker trusts me to deliver my package." Samara's stare narrowed. "If the two bounty hunters are working for Anderson, he wants someone found. They're very good; they'll find whoever it is."

Certainty, lightning sharp and blinding, seared its way down through Shepard's body, and she knew their target. "I need to get into Fist's office. I need to know what they're talking about in there."

She didn't realize she'd spoken out loud until Samara said, "I can hold the two krogan bodyguards in stasis for ten minutes at the most. Best if you don't let them see your face."

Yeah, particularly since they both knew her. Wait, was she considering trusting this asari to her word? Damn it, she was. Her guts folding along all the old lines, Shepard settled back on the stool, needing something to brace her legs as she reconciled herself with the unexpected turn of events. Two bounty hunters, lystheni, and asari of unknown capabilities, and Fist and his thugs. Not to mention an unknown asari covering her back: one she seemed to be willing to trust with little to no reason. She needed to remember to thank Bailey for thinking of her for his little undercover op.

"Okay," she agreed, at last. What the hell. She had her weapon and her best guy to back her up. And she likely wouldn't find a better chance to get traction on the whole fucking mess. She tipped her head toward Frulk. "See the red-crested krogan in the blue and black? He's with me. If anything goes wrong, he'll be coming in after me. Don't get in his way." She stood and turned, set to let Frulk in on the plan, but then glanced back. "Or better yet, help him. Anything happens to him, I'll be out for blood."

Instead of mocking her as expected, Samara merely nodded and said, "Eight minutes in and out to be certain, and when you come out, I need to track the third asari. Her name is Shiala, and she is—was—entrusted with guarding the two most important things in my life." She leaned in to meet Shepard's eyes. "I must know why she's here with these others. Do I have your word not to interfere?"

Shepard filled her lungs then nodded slowly. "As long as you share any information you find as a result." She shook her head, eyes looking inward as the pieces whirled through her head, a tangled, incomplete puzzle. "I can't let Anderson roll over the entire galaxy."

"Deal." Samara held out her hand, locking wrists when Shepard reciprocated.

"Deal." Shepard released her, heading over to Frulk. For a moment, she debated the wisdom of dragging him into the madness. He really should just go back to work and keep as far away from the Anderson sink hole as he could. At that point, every which way she imagined the investigation ending, flame and explosions and unemployment played a featuring role.

"Are we nuking her from orbit?" the krogan asked, slipping an arm around her.

Shepard smiled and shook her head. "No. Not yet anyway." She leaned up and kissed him, using the moment of feeling sheltered and safe to settle fully into her undercover skin. "I need to get back into Fist's office. Samara is going to hold the body guards in stasis, but you're my backup. If I'm in there longer than eight minutes, or it looks like things have gone FUBAR, come get me. She'll help you." She kissed him again then stepped back. "Wish me luck."

He tightened his grip on her for a second, then nodded, his eyes flashing with warning. "Eight minutes."

"And not a second longer," she agreed. Taking a deep breath, she tugged the hood up until it hung down far enough to hide her face. Thank the dear and fluffy lord for hoodies and shapeless trousers. Other than the leather jacket, she'd become all but impossible to describe, a useful ability for undercover work. Hunching down, she began weaving her way through the crowd to the hallway and the two very large bodyguards.

Heart pounding quickly but with strength, her hands steady, Shepard didn't hesitate, trusting the asari to have done her job—who the hell knew where the damned trust came from. She squeezed between the immobile krogan and glanced at her chrono. Eight minutes. Her heartbeat and breathing slowed even further as the dark blue lighting closed in. She'd run fifty more dangerous infiltrations in her years and being able to count most of Fist's employees among her friends worked in her favour.

"You'll be fine," she said, the whisper disappearing into the music.

She bypassed the lock on the outer door in under fifteen seconds, then slipped through the storage room to the inner door. No guards. Pulling her sidearm, she prayed that Fist's henchman stood right beside him, protecting him from his guests, and then overrode the lock.

The door whispered open, revealing an empty foyer. She breathed out and stepped over the threshold, moving slowly and as silently as possible, a seasoned and silent shadow.

"Anderson and the matriarch are not impressed with your inability to find a single, aged salarian," a soft, almost sweet voice said. Leather creaked. Shepard closed her eyes, searching for more subtle clues. Cigars … Fist, not his guests. Perfume … just enough to be the third asari. The mercs smelled tough: sweat, dirt, gun oil, and smoke. The third one, though … Shiala. She was out of her element, sweet-smelling and immaculate.

Pressing against the wall, Shepard crept along until she could peek out, using a plant as cover. It amounted to a ridiculous, stupid risk, but recordings proved much harder to deny than hearsay. Fist sat at his desk, his guards to either side. The two asari bounty hunters stood off to the right, edging away from the four lystheni ranged behind the sofa like a living wall set to protect the third asari.

"Dr. Solus is paranoid and far better at hiding than we could have guessed," Fist argued, looking tiny and overwhelmed, even threatened, but not by the mercs. Had Samara lied to her about the third asari being AY? "We'll have him long before the _Normandy_ makes it back." He swallowed hard, then leaned forward, hands on the desk. "Anderson's lystheni friends shooting up the lower markets didn't help at all."

Shepard pressed her lips together, smothering a grin as the krill threw up a brave face. It lasted only a second before Fist wilted back into his chair. Well, she had to give him points for even momentary guts, considering the audience. But … what … wait, lystheni gunning after the salarian in the lower markets? Alerts should have been all over C-Sec comms. She should have been paged … although she was officially undercover. She'd have to check her personal line for messages once she got out of there.

A soft, almost delicate sigh drifted through the silence at the end of Fist's outburst, the sound making all the hair on the back of Shepard's neck stand on end. Oh yeah, threat hid beneath the pretty, cultivated exterior. She might not be AY, but Shiala knew menace inside and out. "Gun play in the markets wasn't an ideal situation," she agreed, glancing behind her at her shadows. "However, one of _Anderson's lystheni friends_ actually hit Solus. He left a blood trail into the station's infrastructure. Judging by the amount of blood, he'll need to seek medical attention. We'll find him when he does." She looked to the bounty hunters. "Our people in C-Sec are keeping a lid on the shooting, but we need to conclude our business here and move on before C-Sec's investigation begins to interfere. Vasir … Erinya … find him, and don't disappoint me."

Shepard backed toward the door, listening to see if the mercs had taken her words as an order to move out. At least, if she needed to run, she'd discovered the salarian's name, and how to find him. One hand on the door control, Shepard waited. No one moved other than Fist, whose chair squeaked.

"And what about the personnel we need to retrieve the assets from Aephus?" the asari asked. "Are your pieces in place? I believe you'll find disrupting the matriarch's timetable to be a terminal error."

"My people are aware of the timetable and what is expected of them," Fist shot back, finding a couple more scraps of courage. "The _Normandy_ is due to arrive in under eighteen hours. We'll be in place."

"Good. My people will be arriving four hours prior. Get them through customs and somewhere safe." Leather creaked as Shiala stood and then Shepard heard a soft swiping noise, as if the asari dusted down the front of her long, tailored suit jacket. "If any harm comes to them," she continued, "C-Sec will find your pieces in order, ending with your head, and it'll still be screaming."

Shepard glanced at her chrono. Time to go. Fuck! She needed to know what the hell this matriarch wanted with the _Normandy_ … what these assets were. But no, in less than a minute, she'd have two krogan giving her presence away. She needed to move and palmed the door control.

Shepard slipped through the outside door, then between the bodyguards. Keeping to a walk, she wove through dancers and drinkers to the far side of the club. She ducked out the door, slowing to mingle with the crowd. Hearing footsteps hurrying after her, she glanced back, but it was Samara and Frulk. She slowed, allowing them to catch up. The three of them walking down a busy street wouldn't attract any attention. Still, she stayed vigilant, watching for any sign of a tail.

"What did you hear?" Frulk asked, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her in against his side, the shelter most welcome.

"Anderson's got lystheni all over the station in salarian armour. There was a shootout in the wards, and they put a bullet into the salarian we're looking for, but he got away." She looked up at Frulk. "They've got people in C-Sec who are keeping the shooting silent." After taking a breath, she filled them in on most of the rest of the conversation, leaving some of the details for when she and Frulk were alone.

"The third asari, Shiala, mentioned a matriarch?" Samara stopped as they entered the transit hub. "Did she say anything else that might identify who it is?"

Shepard shook her head. "Nothing. Although I'm sure some of what she said was purely intended to terrify Fist, judging by how little she said, whoever this matriarch is, she's fucking terrifying."

Samara's stoic expression never shifted, making Shepard wonder how much experience the bounty hunter had with terrifying asari matriarchs. "I'll leave you here," the bounty hunter said, her tone giving nothing away. "I'll follow the third asari and report back." She held out her hand to Shepard, clasping wrists once again.

When the asari disappeared back into the club, Shepard wrapped her arms around Frulk, pressing close. "Something huge is going on here," she whispered into his neck, allowing her knees and gut to tremble for a moment as the tight control and adrenaline wore off. "Something huge is coming, and it's terrifying, and somehow it's centered around Anderson."

Frulk hugged her patting her back. "Well then, we'd better get in front of it." He eased her in against one side and headed for the cab stand. "If the lystheni are all over and Anderson's C-Sec are hushing up the shooting, there's only one truly safe place to hide down here in Zakera Ward."

Shepard pulled away, a bright grin breaking across her face. "Oh, you beautiful genius!" She leaped in the cab the moment it landed, and programmed it to take them to Chloe Michel's medical clinic. One place for safe harbour indeed.

* * *

(A-N: I always wonder what Garrus did to investigate Saren in those hours before Shepard arrived at the Citadel, so am having fun actually taking Dog-Bite through my version. As you can tell, things are skewing off the known path, and I anticipate them doing so more and more as we continue. It's a much different, much darker and grittier galaxy, so things following the game path wouldn't make much sense. And sorry, but nobody's safe. :D Thanks so much to those who read and those who reviewed. I love hearing from people. Thanks again.)


	8. Chapter 8

**The Very Model of a Scientist Salarian**

 **Rahat -** (krogan) Equivalent of shit.

 **The Citadel** 5381:04:22: **19:16:35 (Yes, Garrus is still taking his second nap.)**

Outside the cab windows, the normally busy street stood dead still. Shepard shifted restlessly in her seat and stared, willing something to happen other than the tinkering of a solitary Keeper, the spidery, AI-driven robot working away at an open panel. The last stop along a dead end street, the clinic never saw a great deal of traffic, but the current absence screamed trap.

"You'd better have your assault rifle ready to go," she warned Frulk, and pulled her sidearm before she hit the door control. Looking over at him, she waited for his nod, suddenly wishing they had both stopped to armour up.

Frulk didn't hesitate. "Let's get in there," he said, his voice too low to be heard beyond the car. "If there's _rahat_ going down, we're better able to deal with it than Chloe Michel or a wounded salarian."

"Can't argue with that logic." She stood, gaze taking in the length of the street one last time, the entire expanse remained deserted. Closed by Anderson's C-Sec dupes, no doubt. "Fuck and double fuck, Frulk. We're so walking into an ambush." Nonetheless, she strode toward the med clinic door, her pistol hand tucked inside her coat.

Just outside the door, she opened her omnitool to send Bailey a quick text message telling him where they were and forwarding the recording she'd taken in Chora's Den, just in case. She signed off with an admonition to 'fucking well come down here and save our asses' if they didn't report in within fifteen minutes.

She nodded for Frulk to get into cover, then palmed the door. It opened to reveal absolute insanity. Chloe Michel had been tied to one of the posts of the half wall that separated the two halves of her clinic. She hung from her bonds, just clinging to unconsciousness, blood pouring from long slices in her pale skin. Behind her, lystheni in salarian armour threw equipment and supplies everywhere, trashing the place as they searched for where Chloe had hidden the salarian.

A jet of bright green goo spurted toward her. Reacting, Shepard dropped into a roll, slipping just beneath it. She barely made it to her feet when the lystheni opened fire. Keeping low and quick, she scooted to the wall, dropping down behind its meager protection. Back pressed to the polycrete, she spent a couple of seconds getting an auditory lay of the land. Eight shooters ranged down the length of the clinic's back side. The exam cubicles and a giant crate provided them with far too much cover.

Sitrep: outnumbered four to one, and saddled with a liability of two civilians—at least one in the line of fire. She should have told Bailey to just get his ass down there. Leaning up, aiming for the heads, she took out two before a round peeled a deep furrow of flesh from her right shoulder. The shot spun her around, knocking her off her feet, but didn't hurt. At least … yet. Crawling sideways along the floor, she sidled in tight against the doc and struggled up into a crouch. First order of business, get the civilian out of harm's way.

"You able to move if I cut you down?" Shepard asked. She clenched her teeth against the varren that started chewing on her shoulder and popped up, taking down another of the fake salarians.

"Shepard, I've got about a dozen shooters closing in out here," Frulk called, his assault rifle chattering in a calm, controlled rhythm. Good, so far he was okay. She needed to clear the back of the clinic so they had cover. With good cover, they could whittle the bastards down. But first, she needed to cut Dr. Michel down before the lystheni punched her full of gunshot wounds on top of obvious torture.

"Get in here, and lock the door behind you," Shepard ordered, pulling the doc further in behind the post. She leaned up, dropping another bad guy. Her thighs began to burn with the strain of staying in a crouch, but she knew she had a good ten minutes before she wouldn't be able to get up.

Frulk hit the wall next to her, his hump cracking a dent in the wallboard. "We've got maybe a minute." He glanced over the wall. "Five in decent cover; one's wounded. I'll cover you, get the doc down." He stood, peppering the lystheni with enough fire to keep them dug into their hidey holes. Shepard snatched the knife off his belt, slicing through the thick layers of medical tape securing Chloe's wrists.

"Come around here," Shepard coaxed, trading places with the tortured doctor. Switching the knife for her pistol, she stood and stepped around the post. Sometimes the only way to get them out of cover was to charge their positions. Heart slow and steady, legs grateful to be straight and moving, she strode down the back side of the wall. Surprised by her bold move, the first two went down with a double tap through their helmets. Frulk dropped another one that tried to abandon his cover.

Shepard rushed the last couple of hold outs. One sat propped up against the end of a bed, his field of vision limited enough for her to sneak up in his blind spot.

An SMG pinged, an almost laughable sound compared to the roar of shotguns and menacing chatter of assault rifles. At least, it was laughable until the tile floor flew up to smack her in the side. Fuck, had she been shot again? One glance down at the blood soaking her trouser leg confirmed that. Double fuck. The lack of pain and a strong desire not to die staring at a shelf of bed pans, thrust her up into a sitting position. One came for her around the giant crate, going down in a hail of fire that her shaking hands threw so far and wide that only luck, adrenaline, and training saved her. In that order.

"Jane!" Frulk leaped up and over the wall in a single move. Trading his assault rifle for his shotgun, he blasted the last lystheni's head clean off its shoulders, then crouched beside her. "You're bleeding."

"Let me get to her," the doc said, pushing the krogan aside. "I can stop the bleeding." She bent over Shepard's leg, but ducked her head toward the huge crate even as she set to work. "That crate is blocking the trapdoor down into the lab. If you push it out of the way, we can seal ourselves in."

Shepard focused on Frulk to distract herself from the doc cutting open her wound to get at the damage. How much fucking bad luck could one person attract? And they didn't even know if the doc had the salarian. "Dr. Michel, did a wounded salarian come here?" she whispered.

As Frulk threw his shoulder into the crate, shoving it back, along with a couple of bodies, the doc nodded.

"I don't see a door," he muttered, glancing back at them.

The doc let out a short litany of grumbles. "Give me a second. The round hit Shepard's femoral artery." She grimaced an apology as Shepard hollered when she dug into the wound, applying an arterial clamp to hold either side of the bleed together. Slathering the entire site in medigel, she pinched the wound closed as the gel set. "There, that'll keep you from dying before we can treat you."

Shepard's attention snapped to the front door as she heard the telltale sound of override software finishing its work on the lock. Twelve out there. Damn, how the fuck would she manage to fight back with her leg trying to fall off? "Doc, brace the leg. Slap one of those snap-on casts over it."

Grumbling agreement, the doc pulled out a drawer. "Very well, but go easy on it, or you'll tear open the artery again." The cast snapped on as advertised, squeezing a howl of pain from Shepard's lungs as it tightened in on her leg. When Dr. Michel finished adjusting the tension, she gave Shepard an injection. "Pain meds."

Once that was done, she switched interfaces on her omnitool and one of the floor panels lifted up. Frulk bent and pulled it the rest of the way up, then threw himself back, stumbling a few steps until he caught himself against the half wall. Shepard grabbed for her sidearm when a pistol appeared in the gap, held in very competent-appearing salarian hands.

Dr. Michel slapped Shepard's hand down and spun to face the salarian. "It's okay, Dr. Solus," she whispered, "they're C-Sec officers and here to help."

"C-Sec can't be trus—"

The clinic door opened the lystheni announcing themselves in a firestorm.

"Fru—!" Shepard's teeth bit down on her tongue, cutting off the scream as the krogan struggled to stand amidst the fire. Shotgun rounds spun him around, disorienting him enough that he couldn't find cover. Shepard launched herself at him, bearing him to the ground.

"Help me get him down the hole," she ordered, tugging at his legs in between leaning up to spray enough fire to keep the lystheni outside the door. "I can't … ." She sobbed as her leg gave out, forcing her to crawl along the room's divider, shoving and tugging to little effect. "Help me, damn it."

"Maintain cover fire," the salarian said, leaning up through the hole to grab Frulk's legs. "Krogan weight, problematic. Krogan free falling onto salarian, even more problematic." For a second, it took all of Shepard's love for her friend not to plug the salarian right there. Still, she had a job and it didn't include killing their witness. Yet. The lystheni couldn't know which panel they'd gone into, so she let her rage and worry simmer and unleashed hell at the door.

From the corner of her eye, Shepard saw Dr. Michel kneel at Frulk's shoulders, pushing him until he was most of the way in, then she gripped his tunic, trying to brake some of his two hundred kilos as he slid through and crashed to the floor. Shepard winced, but kept up fire. He'd better not die on her, or the salarian might just find himself tossed back out the damned trapdoor.

"I'm in," Dr. Michel said a second after Shepard heard feet thump down on the floor.

Damn, now to get in and close the hatch. Shepard glanced back as she let her gun cool. "Nobody would have a grenade or two, would they?"

The salarian popped back up with three unusual looking devices in his hands. "Are primed, just press button and throw."

Shepard took the jury-rigged monstrosities, handling them like bombs that might just go off in her hands ... because they were. "For the love of … ," she grumbled as she set two down. Pressing the button on the third, she chucked it out the door. "I'm going to lose an arm." A massive ball of fire sent her diving into cover as it belched back through the portal. "Holy fuck-a-doodle doo," she crowed, tossing the next one. "Not bombs ... incendiaries. You gorgeous, twisted bastard."

After throwing the last one, she grabbed the closest body and draped it over the trapdoor, then lowered herself through. Arms wrapped around her, helping slow her fall when she grabbed hold of both handles under the door, and dropped, pulling it shut as she descended. Dr. Michel and the salarian helped her drop the last half metre to the floor, then tried to lead her to a bed.

"No, I'm staying with Frulk," she said, pulling away from them to limp over to the mattress on the floor where they'd laid the krogan. She shook her head when the doc tried to argue. Frulk had only been there because he refused to let her go in without someone watching her back. She bit down on a scream as she flopped down beside him, her leg feeling as though she'd ripped it most of the way off.

"... pard? Do y … ead?" a voice called through static. Bailey! Thank God, at last.

Shepard lifted a hand to her radio. "Bailey? Bailey? Can you read me? Frulk and I are pinned down in Chloe Michel's clinic. Frulk is down; I'm wounded. We've got a witness in custody, but a hell of a lot of bad guys outside the door." She paused, just getting static in return. "Bailey? Do you read? Need back up, but the enemy has people in C-Sec."

"... oger Shepard. ...eady on my way."

Shepard growled low in her throat. Damned comms. "Bring Ridgefield. Trust no one else. Do you read?"

"Copy … at. Bailey … ut." The channel closed.

Shepard twisted on the side of the cot, looking down at Frulk. "Well, big guy, the cavalry is on the way. You hang in there." She glanced down at the doctor. "How's he doing?"

Dr. Michel shook her head, looking up from where she'd cut away his clothes. "His wounds aren't regenerating the way they should." Her omnitool sparked bright orange in the dim light. "There's some sort of enzyme in his bloodstream that keeps attacking the nanites." She keyed the interface, then waved it over the krogan. "I'm shutting down his regen implants. Let his body do the work on its own." The doctor bit down on the corner of her bottom lip as she worked, her pretty, blood-streaked brow furrowed in concentration.

"And how are you?" Shepard asked. "You took quite a beating." She reached down to grab her trouser leg, grinding her teeth together to keep a scream at bay as she lifted her leg onto the mattress alongside Frulk's.

"I'm fine, they're all clean cuts. My nanites have already closed them up." Chloe nodded toward one of the medical beds. "Please, go sit up somewhere so I can scan you properly," she said, then sighed when Shepard shook her head.

"I'm not leaving his side until he wakes up, and I know he's going to be all right." Shepard stabbed her chin toward the cast holding her leg together. "Just look after Frulk. I'll keep, or … better yet … " She glared at the salarian. "... can you fix my leg? I need to get up there and kill some lystheni." She let out a low, menacing growl than sort of belly-flopped into a moan. "Now that I've got you in my sights, there's no fucking way I'm going to let those bastards have you."

She shifted a little, trying to find a more comfortable position, or at least one that had a much less intimate relationship with the narrow edge of the mattress. After a couple of wriggles, she gave up and turned to the salarian. "Solus, right?"

"Dr. Mordin Solus, yes." He sniffed a little, as if affronted by her casual address.

"Well, are you a pure researcher or a medical doctor as well?" she asked, gesturing toward her leg.

Another sniff, but he got up and walked over, omnitool flaring to life. "Didn't think you'd accept assistance from salarian doctor. Galaxy's opinion coloured by prejudice and fear." Crouching, he produced a pair of gloves from a pocket in his coat, slipped them on and proceeded to poke at her leg. "Gunshot wound. Round bisected femoral artery. Kinetic force broke fibula. Must repair artery, inject medigel, and brace limb."

Dr. Michel passed him tray with a couple of different bottles and syringes. He tutted happily to himself as he prepared his work. "Ossification and absorption enhancers, targeted medigel, pain medication. "Very good. Well stocked for underground clinic."

"Yes, well," Dr. Michel replied, tossing a wry grin and cocked eyebrow at Shepard that burned like one of Dr. Solus's devices, "Zakera Ward is a dangerous place, and I seem to have fostered a reputation for taking in strays."

"Be glad you have, Doc," Shepard said. "It's the reason we came here first." Shepard leaned back and closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds above as the salarian doc worked on her leg. Almost the full dozen of them were still up there, tearing apart the walls by the sound of it. She had to count on having only minutes before the lystheni discovered the trap door, and then maybe another five before they broke through. She prayed Bailey made it in time. She could go up there, but she wouldn't last forty five seconds against that many guns in her civvies with a bum leg.

And meanwhile, Frulk continued to look worse and worse, his breathing getting more shallow with every breath, his wounds remaining open and bleeding, regardless of what the doc did. Leaning over him to press her lips next to his aural canal, she whispered, "Don't you dare die on me. I swear on all that's holy, if you die, I'm coming right after you, and you'll spend your entire afterlife with my foot shoved up your ass."

"Sounds like uncomfortable way to spend afterlife," Solus said. "Warning, this will be painful." Before Shepard got a chance to brace herself, he grabbed her leg and yanked, then shoved. Biting down on her fist to smother her yelp, Shepard glared at him. "Apologies." He scanned her leg. "Bone aligned."

Shepard's hand caressed Frulk's neck in a constant loop, her only outlet for her worry, even as she glared at the salarian scientist. "Thanks for the warning." She leaned back, one hand braced against the floor behind her, and sucked in long breaths as she waited for the pain to ease. It didn't, so she tried distraction.

"So, Dr. Solus, what the hell are the lystheni? What just kicked our asses up there?" she asked, lacing enough demand through her voice that the salarian turned to face her. Gesturing for him to keep his eyes on his work, she said, "You can explain and keep fixing me at the same time. Am I almost done here? I need to get my ass back up there before they find the door."

The doctor tutted, silencing Shepard with a single, impatient glare. "Patience. Same enzyme destroying your implants as your partner's."

Mordin's omnitool scanned her from head to toe. After a second, he nodded. "Know this compound. Modified, but origin definitely lystheni." Fingers flying over the interface, he hunkered down next to her.

Shepard grabbed his arm as the search overhead seemed to settle in on the trapdoor. "Get on with it, or we're going to have lystheni dropping in on our heads."

"Humans," the scientist muttered, "too rash. Need brains to deal with lystheni, not brawn." He continued with his analysis. "Five centuries ago, salarians discovered large prothean data cache. Organic tech. Marvellous opportunity for discovery, for advancement." He paused, cocking his head to listen, when something crashed above.

Shepard closed her eyes, trying to rest, not an easy task. The search moved away again, and she let out a long breath. They still hadn't found the way in. "So, you found prothean tech and what? Decided to use it to improve your species?" A wave of nausea rolled toward shore, threatening to swamp her as it washed up. "There's a reason organic tech development is illegal: it integrates and infiltrates our wetware too easily."

"Scientists foolish, overstepped limits and legalities." Solus nodded. "Blinded by limitless possibilities presented by synthesis with organic technology. Volunteers upgraded with specialized technology for many reasons: enhanced neural frames for scientists, biological weapons grown within soldiers' bodies. Results mixed. Subject efficacy enhanced greatly, but psychological stability … problematic."

Shepard retched, her mouth flooding with acid before Dr. Michel shoved a basin under her chin. She heaved for a good minute before drawing in a long, shaky breath. Passing the basin back, she accepted a cloth to wipe her face. "Thanks, Doc." She scrubbed the sweat and grime off her neck and face before wiping her mouth and passing it back.

"Here," Solus said, turning toward Dr. Michel. "This should counteract the lystheni enzyme compound for both officers." He turned back to Shepard's leg.

"Thank you, Dr. Solus," Chloe replied, then after a second of examining the data that appeared on her tool, she shook her head. "This is amazing. How did you … ?"

"Spend twenty-five cycles researching lystheni," Solus replied, shifting a little, no doubt unaccustomed to remaining still so long. "Tech advanced, but still tied to origins."

"I'll make this up," the doctor announced, standing and heading toward the lab in the back. "Should have you back in the fight in five minutes, Shepard."

Shepard nodded, then turned her attention back to Solus. "So your people created super geniuses and super soldiers?" A low, bitter chuckle erupted from her throat, volatile enough that she lunged for the basin again. That time, however, her stomach remained quiet. "And then they turned on you?"

The salarian wrapped her wound with gauze, then reapplied the cast. "Can fight when enzyme counteracted." Solus frowned a little, as if trying to remember what she'd asked. He nodded. "Scientists in charge of projects realized creations developing past all projections." He shook his head and stood, pacing a little, his wringing hands revealing his spiking anxiety levels.

Opening her mouth, Shepard started to tell him to stay still but then bit off the rebuke before it reached the air. The enemy wouldn't hear a little pacing above, and if it helped him remain calm … . She glanced at Frulk, watching his breathing. It continued to weaken. Desperate, snatching at straws, she prayed that the slow down was because his body was regenerating rather than because the enzyme was shutting down all his implants. Damn the salarians … the asari … hell … damn them all, her species included. Why didn't any of them ever learn from their mistakes?

"So, you created monsters, then tried to kill them?" The glare she shot at Solus should have left a half-metre exit wound. She laughed, the sound flinging frozen nettles and thorns at the researcher. "And you got your asses kicked."

He nodded, just two quick jerks of his head. "Advanced past experimental parameters, created own versions, prepared for creator attack."

Shepard rested her hand on the edge of the basin as her stomach rolled over again. "So, we're not just facing salarians here? We're facing an army of super-charged, biotech salarians who've had more than four centuries to develop in ways we can't even imagine?"

"Yes," Solus answered, simple and straightforward. "Spent life tracking development of species, capturing specimens, study … analysis." He curled his fingers at his mouth tapping his knuckles against his chin as he paced: an arrow shooting from one end of the lab to the other. "Not surprised lystheni moving against other species. Made rapid advancement over last cycles. Not natural. Not self-directed. Outside interference. Must discover source."

"Shepard," Bailey's voice came through over her comms without the static. "Halfway down the block with Ridgefield and Chakwas. What are we walking into?"

Shepard bolted upright, hand flying up to her radio. "Can you see bodies outside the clinic? There were twelve lystheni, but I might have taken a few out."

Back muscles seizing a little tighter every moment, she waited through Bailey's pause. Above her, she heard the musical sound of someone trying to override the control on the trapdoor. Damn, they'd been discovered. "Come on, Bailey," she said, growling under her breath.

"Three down," he said, startling her with his reply. "Area's scorched to hell. Looks like your work."

Ignoring the good-natured jab, she held out a hand for Solus to help her up. "Nine or ten left, then. They're trying to get into the door to Dr. Michel's safe room. We haven't got long." When the salarian took her hand, she heaved herself onto her feet. Her leg hurt like hell when she put weight onto it, but it held. She clenched her jaw and pushed the pain away, focusing on the job ahead.

She heard Dr. Michel hurry up behind her, then an injector jabbed her in the neck. "You should be good as new, your nanites able to heal you up in a few minutes," the doctor said.

"Thanks." Shepard pushed a crate under the hatch and clambered up. "Okay, boss, I'm ready to go when you are."

"Thirty seconds," Bailey replied. Shepard counted down ten seconds. "Twenty." Ten more, her hand squeezing the grip on her pistol. "Ten." She reached up for the control. "Coming in!"

Above her head, all hell broke loose, gunfire and grenades going off. The override music stopped, footsteps moving away from the hatch. Shepard popped the control, pushing it up just far enough to sight down the bastards taking cover behind the divider. Grim, brutal satisfaction curled in her gut, purring like a cat warming itself in the sun as she dropped them one by one.

When silence reigned, she pushed the hatch all the way open and hoisted herself up. Bailey appeared around the pillar at the end, the white polycrete streaked with Dr. Michel's blood.

"Shepard!" The executor ran over and helped her up. "You okay?" He dusted her down a little, stopping when he saw the cast. "How bad is it?"

"Yeah, fine … or I will be in a couple of hours." She gestured toward the hole behind her. "Frulk caught the worst of it. Their bullets are coated with some sort of enzyme that attacks implants, stops them from healing."

Bailey nodded, but turned toward his second-in-command, a middle-aged woman in a starched uniform, her grey-white hair pulled back into a bun so severe that it probably hurt. "Chakwas, secure the scene, and keep an eye on the clinic. Make sure you know and trust the officers, there may be more of these bastards on the way. Watch your backs."

Commander Karin Chakwas's glare felt like being stabbed by icicles as it focused on Shepard. "Yes, sir," she replied, immediately setting into action, her turn rigid as rigid and precise as her hair. "Ridgefield, with me. We've got a hell of a mess to clean up."

Shepard hid a mean-spirited grin. Chakwas considered her as much a liability to C-Sec as her father did. Bailey intervening on her behalf amounted to pretty much the entire reason Shepard remained employed. A long sigh escaped as her adrenaline began to wear off, and the pain began to ramp up, her spine melting like chocolate in the sun.

Still, she didn't have time to wilt. The rest of Shiala's plan awaited them. "We have a salarian named Dr. Mordin Solus in protective custody, sir. He has information on the lystheni." Despite her determination to stay strong and straight, the slump continued until her hip thumped against the wall. "And earlier, I overheard a conversation that you're going to want to hear. Anderson has agents on the Citadel, and they intend to move against the _Normandy_ when it docks."

"The _Normandy_? The ship that tangled with Anderson on Aephus?" Bailey slid under her arm to help support her weight. "Well, shit, isn't this turning into a nightmare?" He looked behind them. "Better call the salarian. I'll take you both to the council. They need to know what's going on before that ship arrives."

Shepard groaned as she leaned into him, letting him take a good portion of her weight. "They're going to love this."

(A-N: Oh the tangled web we weave. Thanks so much for your support. It's much appreciated. I hope you enjoy the show.)


	9. Chapter 9

**The Thin Veneer of Civility**

 **Rahat** \- (krogan) The equivalent of shit.

 **Qadin** \- (krogan) Female krogan having undergone the Rite of Passage.

Turian time is expressed in a digital form in descending order. Example: 5381:04:20:26:19:09 is the date of the attack on Aephus down to the Ahtrix (second). Expressed in turian terms: Cycle(year):Tadecem(month):Luxin(day):Orhan(hour):Sextim(minute):Ahtrix(second)

 **The Citadel** 5381:04:22: **20:10:18**

"Take care of Frulk," Shepard called over her shoulder when Chloe Michel peered up through the hatch. "Call me the second there's anything to report." She twisted even as Bailey tried to guide her to the door, determined not to leave before she had a guarantee.

The doctor nodded. "He's already starting to improve." A tip of the doc's head toward the door encouraged Shepard to go. "I'll let you know the moment he's awake."

Reluctant, but Bailey's strong arm tactics leaving her no choice, Shepard gave in.

"Bring a car right to the door," Bailey said, his order barked into his comms rather than meant for her. He glanced over at Shepard, a wry, tight smile twisting one corner of his mouth. "I assigned you to investigate Anderson, and you turned it into a war spread over half Zakera Ward."

An indignant but inarticulate sound answered that accusation. "I didn't start the shootout that wounded Dr. Solus in the first place. That was Anderson's lystheni goons. All Frulk and I did was come here, hoping that Solus had heard the rumours of the doc's underground clinic." She stopped at the door, leaning on the executor a little harder than she needed to as they waited for the car.

"But Anderson's goons knew about it as well." Bailey shook his head. "Good thing you two came here when you did, even though I believe you weren't supposed to involve the rest of C-Sec in this investigation."

Shepard scoffed, her scorn an affectation to cover her love for the big softy. "Right, like Frulk would let me get away with that." Pulling away, she hobbled to the door and looked out. "Where's the damned car? I need to sit." Shooting a flechette-sharp glance over her shoulder at Bailey she shrugged in answer to his even stare. "What? You know it was safer to just include the big idiot than let him stumble around trying to cover my back in the dark."

A shrug dissolved into a nod, Bailey clearly hating to admit that she'd made the right call. Instead, he reached up to his radio. "Where's my car?" The frown that folded his brow pulled Shepard's pistol back into her hand. "Chakwas? Ridgefield?"

Shepard turned to the salarian even as Bailey reached for his assault rifle. "Get back down in with Dr. Michel. Quickly." She spun, pressing her back to the clinic wall, and peered out. At the far end of the street, Chakwas and Ridgefield spoke to a handful of other officers, the commander's gestures clear and authoritative. Chakwas never left any doubt when she gave orders.

"We're jammed," Shepard whispered across to the executor. "Chakwas and Ridgefield are okay, they just didn't hear you." Chewing on her bottom lip, she puzzled through their situation. The enemy had no need to jam them if the attack had ended. Clearly, they were making another play for the salarian doc, but how?

"Boss?" A familiar voice called. "Send Shepard and the salarian out, and this all goes away."

"Harkin?" Shepard laughed, a missile meant to shred its target, as she leaned out a little to get an idea where the attack would come from. "The forces of evil must be more desperate that we imagined if they recruited you." Harkin's bald pate just showed over the roof of the cab she and Frulk had arrived in less than an hour before. Jesus, it felt like it had been at least a day. She could see at least two more uniforms behind another car.

"Recruited me?" Harkin's turn to laugh. "I volunteered for this. Stick that head out a little further, so I can put a bullet through it."

Shepard leaned back in, catching Bailey's eye. She held up three fingers, then indicated the enemy's positions. They needed Chakwas and the others as backup, but how did she get the commander's attention without getting her head shot off? Well, if she had to get her head shot off, she couldn't think of a better place to do it. At least she had that going for her.

Signalling Bailey to switch places with her and give her cover, she scooted across the doorway, then pressed a kiss to her very pretty, hard-earned weapon. "Improved sighting, don't let me down," she whispered. Taking two long, steadying breaths, she leaned out, set her sights on the center mass of Cmdr. Chakwas's tac armour and squeezed the trigger.

She heard another pistol fire as she pulled back, the round's kinetic force spinning her around and throwing her to the ground as it grazed her brow.

"Shepard!" Bailey hollered even as he opened fire on Harkin's position. "You okay?"

Lying flat on her face, entire body screaming at her, Shepard felt fairly sure the answer to that question amounted to a giant 'hell no'. Still, Bailey needed her until Chakwas and the others could make it down the street, so she bullied herself up off the floor and into cover. Unless the C-Sec traitors' rounds contained the lystheni enzyme, her implants would heal her up before the shooting stopped.

Shepard waited until Bailey took cover, then leaned out, squeezing off a handful of shots at the five centimetres of bald head visible over the car's roof. "Sloppy, Harkin," she whispered. A sick lurch sent her to one knee when her fourth round found its mark, the bare scalp and skull beneath dissolving into splinters and mist. Fuck. As much of a pain in the ass as he'd been … . She sank the rest of the way to the floor, her forehead pressed to the gloriously cool wall. She really should get back up, protect Bailey. She needed to keep fighting.

The gunfire ended a second later and gentle hands grabbed her shoulders. "Shepard? You okay, kid?"

Shaking her head, Shepard kept her burning eyes focused on the floor. Bailey didn't need to see her coming apart. "I just killed a fellow officer, criminal scum that he was," she said. "And my best friend … ." She let that thought die off. "I sorta just want to go back and start today over again."

"Yeah." Bailey squeezed the back of her neck, gentle support. "I'll get the car. You rest here for a second." Before he got up, the executor handed her a handkerchief and an ampule of medigel. "Put some of that on your head."

"Yeah, thanks." Shepard shifted, turning her back to the wall, and wiped her eyes on the kerchief before she looked up. "It seems to be safe again," she called toward the trapdoor.

"Forgive me, but will stay here until car arrives," Mordin replied.

Shepard chuckled, bitter and cold. "Yeah, I hear you there, Doc." She blotted her head with the cloth—the bleeding stopped thanks to her nanites—then smoothed a thick layer of medigel over it, dulling the pain. "I haven't been shot three times in my entire career, let alone in a single day," she said then shoved herself up off the floor. "Racked up only two confirmed kills in ten years." Once she got her feet braced under her, she leaned against the door frame. "I was really proud of that, you know? No matter how bad it got, I brought them in alive."

Mordin appeared above the badly shot up half wall, and made his way around to stand beside her. "Lystheni forced issue. Would be dead if not for your timely arrival." He tutted over the furrow carved into the left side of her brow. "Healing, but may experience headache."

Shepard chuckled and nodded as she pushed off the wall and limped to the center of the door. "Already there, Doc. Already there." When the C-Sec car settled to ground just outside, Shepard ushered the salarian out and into the back seat. "Let's just report to the council so I can drink at least a litre of alcohol, consume an entire fried chicken, and then sleep for three days."

Mordin stared at her for a second, mouth open, then snapped it closed and nodded. "Humour common coping mechanism."

"She's not joking, Dr. Solus." Bailey closed the car up when Shepard settled in the front seat. "Alcohol, fried chicken, and unconsciousness are her coping mechanisms."

The researcher sniffed. "Seems maladaptive."

Shepard and Bailey laughed, their mirth ringing genuine, clear, and cleansing that time. "Damn right," Shepard agreed. "Maladaptive, thy name is Jane Shepard."

 **The Citadel Council Chambers** 5381:04:22: **22:19:01**

Shepard leaned heavily against Bailey as she stared across the gap at the three people standing behind their podiums. Nervous hands kept reaching up to scrub at the blood crusted along her hairline. She must look a complete shambles, blood sprayed and splattered all over her torn clothing.

"This recording is greatly troubling." The quarian councilor, Shala'Raan vas Tikkari glanced back at the platform that housed her bonded geth. She nodded, agreeing with something the rest of them didn't hear. "You've done very well, Senior Investigator Shepard."

"Clearly," Donnel Udina, the human councilor, spoke up, "Anderson wants Dr. Solus's knowledge destroyed. And I believe … " He looked to the others for approval. "... that the asset they speak of must be the beacon found on Aephus. We will have a heavy, well-trusted security presence awaiting the _Normandy's_ arrival."

"Respectfully, sir, what of the people Shiala speaks of smuggling onto the Citadel?" Shepard swallowed a lump of nerves, finding it easier as the pain meds settled into her tissues, and ignored Bailey's laser-glare burning through the side of her head. "The conversation I had with the asari bounty hunter, Samara, seemed to indicate that Shiala was a guard at an ardat yakshi monastery." Breaking free of her executor's support, she hobbled to the edge of the platform. "These people Fist is getting past customs could well be some of the supremacists that Samara told me about. If that's the case, they could be after a whole lot more than a beacon."

Shepard looked down, the glass roof over the garden below spinning slowly counterclockwise. Stumbling back a couple of steps, she allowed Bailey to collect her. Yep, the pain meds had started to settle in. Either that or the day and the bullet wounds had finally caught up with her. Probably some combination of the two. Whatever the factors, she estimated a half hour before complete bottom out.

"The ardat yakshi are a concern." The deep, rich voice of the krogan councilor, Urdnot Bakara, pulled Shepard back from self-analysis hell. "As is this matriarch Shiala speaks of being partnered with Spectre Anderson. Any possible ardat yakshi resurgence must and will be investigated thoroughly, SI Shepard." The _qadin's_ smile warmed Shepard through. While she didn't know the other two councilors, she trusted Bakara to see the crisis taken care of. "We'll assign Spectres to find this Shiala and discover what her plans are." Pausing, she bent slightly to enter information into the computer terminal in her podium.

"You have done exceptional work for this council and for Citadel Security, Senior Investigator Shepard," the councilor continued when she looked up once more. "Go now and rest. Recover from your wounds." Her smile widened. "Please, see that my son does as well. Once you have recovered, you will continue your investigation into Spectre Anderson. Interview known associates, gather intelligence on his activities … try to piece together as much of his secret life as you can." She looked to her fellow councilors.

"Yes," Shala'Raan agreed. She straightened, listening again to the internal voice of the geth who'd been bonded to her the moment she was born and her first neural frame was implanted. "He will certainly go to ground, and we must know where to look if we are to find him before he causes more destruction." She smiled, the expression one that told Shepard not to worry, the council had dealt with far worse in their thousands of cycles of managing a wide and dangerous galaxy.

The councilor was right. They had. Suddenly Shepard felt very young and very stupid. Just because she happened to be the one taking bullets in the center of the current storm … well, it didn't mean there hadn't been far worse storms in the past. After all, the galaxy had survived the yahg invasion and the ardat yakshi rebellion. The council would see the mess cleaned up. She just needed to do her part and complete her investigation of Anderson: provide them with the intelligence they needed.

And take a nap. And eat an entire fried chicken.

"You'll have Spectre-level security clearance for the duration of your investigation," Udina added, tapping away at the interface in front of him. When he finished, he looked up and nodded. "Thank you for your service, SI Shepard. You've done well."

"And Dr. Solus? He's still in danger." Shepard winced, hearing more demand in her tone than she probably should've used. Brain to mouth filter gone. Check. Definitely time for food and sleep. "He's got valuable intel on the lystheni."

Udina sighed, his head cocking a little as he considered the salarian without actually looking at him. "Bailey, take the professor to a safe house under trusted guard. Have him depose his knowledge into a secure file." The councilor's gaze moved past the executor to where Dr. Solus stood still and silent, frozen like a possum trying to play dead. "Thank you for coming to the council with this knowledge, Dr. Solus. Any intel that helps us solve this current crisis is welcome and most appreciated."

"Didn't come to council," the salarian muttered under his breath. He blinked in response to Shepard's slow grin and Bailey's sharp glare. "What? Didn't."

Bailey shushed the salarian and then Shepard as she fought back highly inappropriate laughter. Focusing on the krogan councilor, she managed to contain her mirth through sheer respect for Bakara. The shaman met Shepard's gaze with one that sparked with good humour, almost as if she could see into Shepard's head. "You're dismissed, SI Shepard. Thank you."

Shepard opened her mouth to suggest that the assets—emphasis on the plural—Shiala mentioned coming in on the _Normandy_ might refer to the people as well as the beacon, but Bailey interrupted her. She gave him her best version of 'death eyes'—aka: I can kill you with my mind—but didn't argue.

"With your permission, Councilors, I'll see SI Shepard to her car," the executor said, pinning Shepard with yet another glare that told her to keep quiet. He must keep that glare on speed-dial.

"Of course," Udina replied, already back at work at his console. "But do return once she's safely on her way, Executor. We have much to arrange."

"I'll return immediately." Bailey gripped Shepard's wrist, pulling her arm around his shoulders. "I'll keep at them about security for the _Normandy_. Dr. Solus, you might as well come along now as well," he whispered, half-carrying Shepard down the platform. "Get some rest, and then get to work figuring out what Anderson's up to." He paused, slowing to look over at her. "Shiala said her people were coming in four hours before the _Normandy_ arrives?"

Shepard just stared at him, not quite sure what he was telling her. Of course, the pain meds really had kicked in most gloriously, turning her entire world into a sleepy sort of haze.

Bailey sighed. "Right. Meds. Look, Shepard, you have Spectre-level clearance to check docking bay camera feeds … restricted camera feeds … search for discrepancies on passenger manifests." He chuckled and shook his head when she continued to stare at him, too fascinated by the way his mouth formed words to actually hear them. She reached up to poke at his lips, grunting indignantly when he slapped her hand away. "Go get Frulk and take both he and Dr. Solus back to your apartment. I'll make sure I have people I trust guarding your building."

"So, while Frulk and I are napping, Dr. Solus is supposed to upload his brain onto my computer?" Shepard stumbled, only Bailey's grip on her saving a long tumble down the stairs. "Ow! F—" Bailey's hand clapped over her mouth, muffling the rest of her reaction to landing with her weight on her bad leg.

"Don't nap too long," Bailey continued after glancing around. Shepard did as well, but no one in the chambers seemed aware she existed, let alone overheard her vulgarity. The executor cleared his throat. "The _Normandy_ arrives in about nine hours. I'll have a tac team there to guard the beacon in transit, but watching out for the crew … " He shrugged. "... that'll be all you and Frulk, if he's up to getting shot at some more."

Shepard groaned, a combined hiccup and burp announcing her stomach's growing attitude problem. "Oh sure, I don't get to decide if I'm up to getting shot at," she said, the words muffled as they squeezed out between the fingers she clapped over her mouth. When the elevator door closed behind them, Shepard broke free of Bailey to collapse against the railing. "I don't feel good. I think someone shot me."

After taking a couple of deep breaths, she managed to push back both the nausea and the fog and straightened. "Bailey, I'm as willing to leave things to the council and the Spectres as the rest of the galaxy, but if Anderson does want the ground team from Aephus dead, Frulk and I aren't going to be anything more than a wrinkle in the carpet." Letting honest worry peek through the rest, Shepard pinned the executor with a frank stare. "Their attack on the clinic proved that, and I really don't want to end today by getting my best friend killed."

Eyebrows lifting to accede her point, Bailey buttressed a hand against the lift wall. "I'll make sure you have a shuttle at your disposal and whatever clearances you need. Park the damned thing at the end of the docking tube, get the ground team and Arterius on board, and then unload them straight into the elevator." He stepped up as the elevator slowed. "And do your best to find whoever or whatever this asari asked Fist to smuggle in."

She nodded, and stepped back in against his side, accepting his help when the elevator reached the ground floor. "You know, boss, I continually underestimate what a badass rebel you can be."

He just shook his head, but then took a deep breath. "You know, kid, the council had something dead to rights up there." He gave her a squinty, crooked grin when she turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised in query. "You've done a hell of a job for all of us today. You and Frulk both." His omnitool flared, opening the C-Sec car that still sat a couple of metres from the elevator door. He helped her in and programmed the car to take her to Chloe Michel's clinic. "Go pick him up, take him home, and get some rest. You've got a hell of a lot more good work to do before this thing is done."

Shepard saluted, a weak, wobbling disgrace of a thing. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." As the door closed, she let her head sag back against the upholstery, her eyes slipping closed.

Ridgefield helped Frulk out the clinic door the moment the car landed, hurrying the krogan into the back seat before climbing behind the controls.

Shepard frowned, but turned her attention to Frulk, searching for all the signs of the things he'd never admit to her. He still looked pale, the orbits of his eyes bruised-looking, but he was up and moving with strength. "How are you doing, big guy?"

He reached between the seats to take her hand, his grip strong and his hand warm. "I"ll be fine. How about you? You look like _rahat_." Releasing her hand, he brushed her hair away from the healing furrow in her brow.

"Healing up all right." Shepard squeezed his fingers. "The council is contacting the _Normandy_ to warn them about the threat to the beacon, and … ." She let the thought trail off. Contacting the _Normandy_. Huh. She turned to Ridgefield. "Drop me off at the academy. Please? I have something I need to do before I head home."

Slicing the air with a hand to nip both Frulk and Ridgefield's arguments off at the bud, Shepard shook her head. "They're not after me, I've just been between them and the people they _are_ after. I'll catch a cab right from the front entrance." When Ridgefield gave in with a sour mandible flick, Shepard patted her partner's shoulder. "Just make sure to check the apartment before you leave these two alone in there. I won't be more than twenty minutes behind you."

Staring at the projection of their surroundings speeding by, Shepard grinned to herself. Bailey was right. She had Spectre clearance, and she needed to use it to its fullest extent if she meant to keep the _Normandy's_ crew safe while they were on the Citadel.

 **The Citadel - Executor Bailey's Office** 5381:04:22: **23:37:10**

"Senior Investigator Shepard," Captain Saren Arterius said, his hologram appearing on the communicator pad. "My yeoman said you had important intelligence about the safety of my crew?"

Shepard swallowed hard, praying that the combination of drug-addled dizziness, nerves, and pain didn't end with her vomiting in front of the turian captain. "Yes, sir," she managed to squeeze out between breaths. "During the course of my investigation into Spectre Anderson, I managed to record a conversation that I believe you need to hear."

He straightened, clasping his talons behind his back. "The council just sent the details of their security arrangements for the beacon's transport. Thank you for uncovering Anderson's plans, but we had already made our own—"

Loathe to cut him off, but also fading too quickly to sit through a lecture on how the turian military didn't need C-Sec protection, Shepard lifted a single finger. "Um, begging your pardon, sir, but the council has their heads up their asses." She winced, waiting for the fallout, but instead, the captain smiled, a quick, hard flick of mandibles.

"Oh?" he asked simply, his stance relaxing into crossed arms and a cocked hip.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, I realize it's insubordinate, and this comm call is overstepping my bounds, but they're obsessed with the beacon and ignoring the rest of the threat." She opened her omnitool. "I'd like to send you the entire recording?"

He stepped up to the comm console. "Please. Absolutely."

Shepard watched the captain's bearing and expression as the meeting between Shiala and Fist played out, his demeanour becoming stiff and furious.

"That's all?" he asked when it ended, some of his fury escaping to snap at her with sharp teeth.

"Yes, sir." Her nod eased into a shrug. "I had eight minutes to get in, listen, and get out before Fist's exterior guards gave me away." She reached up to run a hand through her hair, wincing as her finger snagged on a blood-crusted tangle. "Anyway, I believe that Shiala doesn't just mean the beacon when she refers to assets. I believe she wants to either capture or eliminate the ground team." She leaned on one hip, her mind struggling through the fog to reason why. "It can't be to eliminate witnesses, the entire galaxy has seen the footage from Aephus."

Her hand lifted to her brow, picking absently at the crust of blood. "There has to be something else he wants with them."

The turian captain paced for a couple of seconds then stopped so quickly that he stumbled a little. "The lystheni constructs hit my people with some sort of acid that attacked their implants even after my ship's doctor stopped the acid's more obvious effects. He contained the damage, but is worried there might be residual effects."

A hard, fierce smile curled only one corner of Shepard's mouth. "Weapon testing?" She nodded. "That's makes a really sick sort of sense. The lystheni rounds that hit myself and my partner were contaminated with an enzyme that had the same effect on our implants."

Her turn to pace, her mind turning over slowly as she tried to form a plan. "Okay, I'll see if I can locate these people Shiala is bringing in. After a shower and a nap." She stopped and stepped up to the console. "I'll be in contact again thirty minutes before the _Normandy_ is due to dock, and let you know what I've turned up." She met his frank, even regard, noticing for the first time that his eyes shone a keen blue in the dark recesses behind silver plating.

"Thank you for contacting me with this extra intel, Senior Investigator Shepard, and your concern for my people." A far less sharp smile accompanied his nod. "I'll look forward to your update." A chuckle eased the lack of familiarity between them, the sound warm and personable. "Get some rest. You look like you've earned it."

A self-conscious hand lifted to cover the evidence of her last brush with gunfire. "Yes, sir. Hoping to avoid getting shot a fourth time today." Her finger hovered over the cut off. "I'll be in touch."

 **The Citadel - Bed** 5381:04:22: **24:32:29**

Shepard let out a long, drawn out groan as she lowered herself onto her mattress. "Holy dear mother of the fluffy lord," she said in a half-whisper, half-hiss. Every muscle from her jaw down to her toes curled in on itself, seizing into a body wide charlie horse that burned as if someone had set her muscles on fire. She moaned between breaths, trying her best to avoid disturbing Frulk, who snored peacefully next to her.

"Mmm," the krogan murmured, rolling over to gaze at her through mostly-closed eyes. "You finally made it to bed."

She grunted, pain still adding a hitch to the beginning and end of each breath. "Needed to set up camera feeds." She leaned up to kiss him. "Pulled in the coverage from every back route Fist might try to use to smuggle in Shiala's people. Mordin's watching the feeds." Letting out a long, soft sigh, she melted into the mattress, the muscle spasms easing. "Apparently, salarians don't need sleep."

Kissing him once again, she curled in next to his warmth. "How are you doing? You scared the crap out of me today." Forcing her eyes open, Shepard reached up to caress Frulk's cheek.

He leaned into her touch then gathered her into gentle arms. "I'm fine. A couple of hours of sleep and some decent food, I'll be ready to kick ass again." He nuzzled her brow, careful of the still-healing furrow that cut just above her temple. "Come on, let's get some rest. Did you set an alarm?"

Shepard yawned and let her body shut down. "Yeah, we've got five hours." Feeling safe and well-protected, Shepard dozed off, her sleep deep but threaded through with dreams of asari creeping through small, dark spaces.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Nine - The Lying, Shattered Mirror**

 **Netichik:** Insect analogues native to Palven that have been exported to many colony worlds. About two centimetres long, they live in colonies burrowed into trees. Meat eaters, they drop out of trees in large masses onto the backs of animals passing beneath their nests.

 **Mabul** \- The turian equivalent of the expletive 'fuck'. Derived from **Irrumabul** \- the word for sex under duress, specifically between a superior and a subordinate.

 **Targismar** \- The most vile curse in the turian language. Has its origins in turian prehistoric rituals involving the disgracing and execution of enemies. The shortened **Targis** is used most often.

 **Tarc** \- Vulgar expletive equivalent to shit.

 **Soluvermus** \- A small (average size 8-12 cms/1-2 cms diameter), heavily armoured earthworm native to Palaven's more northern and southern regions.

Turian time is expressed in a digital form in descending order. Example: 5381:04:20:26:19:09 is the date of the attack on Aephus down to the Ahtrix (second). **Expressed in turian terms:** **Cycle** (year): **Tadecem** (month): **Luxin** (day): **Orhan** (hour): **Sextim** (minute): **Ahtrix** (second)

 **TSF Normandy** 5381:04:22: **34:35:29**

Garrus straightened his armour's yoke, then settled into a weary parade rest, his feet a little too wide apart in order to accommodate the mild disequilibrium brought on by seeing everything through unaugmented eyes. His parents had been slow to believe in augmentation. Unlike his peers and baby sister, he hadn't been fitted with a neural frame at birth. It wasn't until he was refused admission to a prestigious school when he was three that his parents caved in, realizing that the future would leave their brilliant, but altogether too-organic-baseline son behind.

He probably owed those three cycles of hindered but natural brain development for his life. Even so, after twenty-six cycles of experiencing the galaxy through senses that registered thirty-five percent wider bandwidths and sensitivities, and then processed all that data a hundred percent faster … . Well, was it any wonder he felt off kilter and half-blind? Maybe he could get a black market frame implanted behind Chellick's back.

Yes, nothing reckless about that plan at all.

The first to answer Captain Arterius's call to meet in the comm room, Garrus stared at the blank vid screen where he'd watched the attack on Aephus begin so few _luxins_ before. It seemed impossible that so much had happened in so short a time, Aephus flipping his entire universe upside down, the beacon vision turning it inside out.

"Commander." Spectre Alenko walked in the comm room door, stepping up to face Garrus on an oblique angle. "How are you feeling? Recovering well?" He replied only with a sharp, formal nod, but then the captain entered, saving Garrus from having to make small talk about his multiple neural procedures.

"Good, I'm glad you're both here," Saren said, striding to the console. Instead of activating it, he turned to face them. "Several _orhans_ ago, I received a communication from a Senior Investigator Shepard with Citadel Security."

"She's the officer assigned to investigate Anderson," Alenko added, activating his omnitool. "The council sent me her report."

Garrus didn't need to open the report. He'd read it just before heading up from his quarters. It sounded like SI Shepard had wandered into a _netichik_ nest, the implications of which set his gut churning. Even on the Citadel, the beacon wasn't safe.

"Yes, but she also contacted me directly to inform me of what had been left out of the report." He keyed the interface, a shaky, first person vid appearing on the screen.

When the few _sextims_ of footage ended, Garrus shifted a little, heart pounding, lungs drawing deeper breaths, weight balanced on his talons. Despite his not fully understanding the implications of what he'd seen, his body prepared to fight. They went to Aephus to pick up a beacon, dropping instead, into a nightmare that didn't make any sense or show any sign of letting them wake up.

"SI Shepard will be contacting us again in a moment with an update." Saren chuffed a little. "She rescued the salarian scientist earlier, but is trying to discover the identities and track the movements of the people this low-life, Fist, is smuggling in."

The console chimed, Scurra's voice filling the room. "Captain? SI Jane Shepard for you, sir."

"Put it through, Scurra." Saren turned to meet the C-Sec investigator's hologram, settling into a neat, but relaxed parade rest. "SI Shepard, right on time." He grinned, an open, friendly smile that surprised Garrus. "You look rested, but as if you woke only to be thrown right back into the fray."

She nodded and mirrored his stance. "I found security camera footage of Fist and four C-Sec officers smuggling a group of twenty-six people off a shuttle that bypassed the docks to enter the station's infrastructure. All hid under hooded cloaks like cosplayers at a Space-Age Dragon Saga convention. They disappeared from cameras once they entered the keeper tunnels."

She stiffened, her face hardening with what Garrus felt sure was the same indignant rage he'd feel if he discovered some of his crew aiding the enemy. "After I identified the officers on the footage, I tried to track them through their radios, but no joy. They either disabled the transponders or they're being cloaked at the source." Shepard raked her hand through her short, red hair. "I went into the keeper tunnels and mixed it up with a few more lystheni, but other than the ambush at the entrance, no sign of our friends."

The captain nodded and waved Alenko forward. "SI Shepard, this is Spectre Kaidan Alenko."

Shepard lifted a couple of fingers in a half-hearted wave. "Pleasure, Spectre Alenko." Her eyes narrowed as she stared down the other human. "Do you have any intel … any traction at all on what's going on with Anderson?" She glanced toward Saren. "Captain Arterius showed you the footage from the meeting I taped?"

"I did." Saren turned to level a second inquiring stare on the Spectre.

Alenko shook his head. "I greeted him as my friend and mentor." Undisguised grief and guilt weighed down the words. "He said the council had sent him to help. I believed him. I didn't even question it despite the fact they never send two Spectres in blind. Still, I just turned my back on him." He pulled himself together, straightening with an obvious effort.

Shepard nodded, her face neutral, but soft almost empathetic. "No sign of an asari matriarch around him prior to Aephus? He didn't mention one?" she asked, one hundred percent cop. Garrus's mandibles fluttered as he recognized the tone even through the translator. "Have you had much contact with Spectre Anderson in the last several months?"

Alenko shook his head. "An asari matriarch? No, I can't recall him mentioning anything. Contact? Yes, I've spoken to him … a few vid calls ... but he's been sticking to the traverse, calling in his meetings with the council." Another, deeper head shake, as if the Spectre kept seeing new layers hiding within his very understandable mistake. Garrus knew he would have turned his back to Saren in the same situation. "Looking back, it's clear as day that he's been hiding something for months, maybe even years."

Shepard let out a long, noisy breath. "Once you've reported to the council, I'll book a few hours with you to help fill in some gaps in my investigation. That hindsight may prove most valuable." She turned her green-eyed gaze to the captain. "You as well, Captain, if you can spare me the time?" A single finger rose to interrupt Saren as her other hand snapped to her comms. "Sorry."

She listened for a second, then grimaced. "Okay, thanks for the update." A crooked grin whispered across her lips. "Don't take your eyes off that screen." A broader smile. "I'm talking to the Normandy on the comms, so bugger off and don't look away from the screen. Later."

Turning back, Shepard shrugged. "Sorry about that, _quiritus_ … Spectre Alenko." She looked past the other two, her gaze latching onto Garrus for the first time. "Commander Vakarian?"

"Yes." He stepped forward, but didn't offer anything further. Something about the woman's frank regard set his teeth on edge.

"You were the ground team leader on Aephus?" When he answered with nothing more than a soft grunt and a razor sharp nod, she smiled. "Excellent. From the reports, your team were all that stood between the colony being there one day and gone the next."

Despite knowing that she meant to pay his entire team a compliment, he bristled. What right did she have to praise their work? She hadn't been down there fighting off those monsters or trying to keep his people alive through the madness.

"Please excuse Commander Vakarian," Saren said, stepping between them and pushing Garrus back. "When he rescued one of his team from the beacon, it blew out his neural frame." A stern, crystal-blue glare burned a hole through Garrus's skull. "He's not quite himself yet."

"Blew out your neural frame?" Shepard shuddered. "You're bloody lucky your brain didn't get cooked." An easy grin spread across her riotous field of freckles. "No wonder you looked a little peaked."

Garrus stiffened, his spine snapped metal-ruler straight. "I'm fit. Thank you for your concern." He bit down on every word, gnawing on her over familiarity like a tough _drellak_ steak. The dimly lit room felt as though it closed in on him, the shadowed recesses pressing in.

Her grin widened rather than showing any sign of intimidation. "Of course you are. Tough stock." She turned her attention to Alenko and then the captain. "I have a C-Sec shuttle and emergency clearances, so I'll be waiting right at the end of the tube when you dock." She grinned, the expression almost wild on her dirty face, framed by wild hair. "I'll get your people to the council and back aboard the _Normandy_ in one piece, Captain."

"Thank you, SI Shepard," the captain replied, smiling back. "We appreciate your efforts on our behalf." Saren stepped up to the console and shut down the transmission.

"Captain … Commander … I'd better finish preparing my report for the council, and collect my notes for SI Shepard's investigation," Alenko said, letting out a long breath. "It looks like things aren't going to be getting any easier from here."

"Spectre Alenko," Saren said, offering a crisp nod. He watched until the Spectre left the comm room, then turned to Garrus. "I wasn't aware that you harboured prejudice against humans, Vakarian."

Surprised, Garrus ducked his head back, arching his neck. "Sir?" He'd never considered himself overly prejudiced against anyone. He didn't dislike SI Shepard, just her lack of respect and good manners.

Saren just shook his head and stepped up into Garrus's space. "If you have issues with humans, leave them on board. SI Shepard has spent the last two _luxins_ risking her life to ensure our safety when we arrive on the Citadel." His mandibles dropped a little, his eyes narrowing. "Humans have their own issues with having their vulnerabilities pointed out," Saren said, "but what Shepard said was not intended to insult." He chuckled. "Quite the opposite, she was expressing admiration for your resilience."

Garrus nodded, but bristled. He didn't need the approval or sympathy of any stranger. He was turian. Of course, most of the empire knew Saren's opinions on humans: widely considering him a human apologist and sympathiser. During the Relay 314 incident, when the council stepped in, pulling back the reins on the human fleets, the captain had been wounded and trapped on the ground behind enemy lines. Instead of turning him over as a prisoner of war, the humans who discovered him hiding in their barn had treated his wounds, nursed him back to health, and smuggled him off the colony.

"Don't be too quick to judge indiscreet compassion as insult, Vakarian," Saren continued, pulling Garrus's attention back where it belonged. "She seems a good sort." He cracked his neck and tugged at his cowl. "Go get your ground team ready to go ashore. This entire situation has my plates itching."

Garrus saluted and strode out of the comm room, suddenly embarrassed by both his reaction to the C-Sec officer and his uncharitable thoughts about his commanding officer and mentor. Was he prejudiced? Clenching his jaw, he resolved to police any brittle-plate reactions to the human. Saren was right, she didn't even know them and had already taken bullets to help protect them.

 **TSF Normandy** 5381:04:22: **35:28:16 (Citadel arrival)**

"Captain Arterius?"

Garrus looked down the docking tube, recognizing the C-Sec officer standing there. SI Shepard looked even more ragged for the passage of the short span of time since their vid call, her face and armour splashed with blood. She breathed deep and heavy, as if she'd just raced from battle to meet them.

"SI Shepard." The captain stepped out ahead of them, striding down the ramp with purpose. He offered his arm even before he stopped. The C-Sec officer gripped Saren's wrist with something that looked a lot like relief. The captain reacted to it by gripping her shoulder with his other hand. "It appears your journey to collect us has not been without incident."

Shepard's answering smile amounted to nothing more than a thin press of lips, her tension broadcasting clearly despite getting right down to business. "Executor Bailey is waiting with the transport, a TAC team, and two gunships. They'll stay with the cargo until it is secured." She led the way to the railing, gesturing down to where a ridiculously heavy C-Sec presence ushered the beacon's crate down the ramp.

"And the blood?" Saren asked, gesturing toward her armour.

Shepard turned back toward the shuttle sitting two steps from the end of the docking tube. "My team managed to track the missing C-Sec officers." She scoffed. "Who am I kidding? The transponders in their radios were turned on, broadcasting in case we were stupid enough to just rush into an obvious trap."

Holding out an arm toward the open shuttle door, she said, "Perhaps this story would be best told on the way to the council chambers, Captain? I don't want your people left exposed a second longer than necessary." She waved to a krogan officer standing a handful of metres away and then a turian the same distance in the opposite direction. "We're up against a determined enemy."

Garrus hung back, letting Alenko introduce himself, the Spectre shaking Shepard's hand with a quiet enthusiasm that clearly broadcast 'Human friend! I'm relieved to finally find myself in the presence of another human. Let's share the human camaraderie of human club. Look at how much the same we humans are in our humanness.'

"Ow!" A bolt of blue exploded between their hands, and Shepard snatched hers back, rubbing her palm with the opposite thumb. "Sorry, but … is that supposed to happen?" She shifted to rubbing her injured hand against the thigh of her armour. "You might want to get your amp checked. That smarts."

"Sorry," Alenko said, his face flushing a bright red as he winced. "My implants were damaged on Aephus, and my biotics have been doing some bizarre things. My apologies." He walked ahead, stepping up into the shuttle.

Garrus chuckled under his breath. So much for human club.

 _Tarc._ He stomped on the unkind thought as he followed Shepard and Saren into the vehicle. Shaking his head, he rolled his shoulders, trying to throw off the ill humour. It really didn't have anything to do with the humans; they just made an all too available target. It had to do with going into a situation where he'd most likely need to fight, and feeling nearly helpless. He knew he'd be able to function in battle if required, he just … without his frame, he felt as though someone had blindfolded one eye and tied one of his hands behind his back. The vulnerability rankled.

His mother always said that the universe was merely a mirror that reflected oneself back.

"Commander Vakarian?" The C-Sec officer's greeting surprised him. Shepard reached out her hand to clasp his wrist. "Pleasure to meet the hero of Aephus in person." She held out a small crate. "For you." She stared expectantly into his eyes until he took the package, then turned away to join the captain and Alenko, everyone settling in for the short trip to the presidium tower.

Garrus sat next to Nihlus and fastened his harness, then stared suspiciously at the crate. What was it? A gift? Why would she get him something?

"What is it, hero of Aephus?" the LT asked, a grin tweaking his mandibles. "None of the rest of us got presents for our heroics." He shifted his curiosity from the box to Garrus then back. "Come on, you've got to open it."

Garrus let out a long grumble and opened the crate. Inside, a targeting visor sat nestled in foam. It looked like a customized prototype based on the latest Kuwashii model. He lifted it out of the packaging and turned it over in his hand. The eyepiece flashed, data scrolling past in bright blue. He slipped the device on just to see what the hell it was doing.

A soft, feminine rumble drew his attention from the incredible menu of functions blinking in front of his left eye. "It's the latest C-Sec prototype ... syncs to your omnitool automatically," Shepard said from a few seats down and across the shuttle's hold. "It's target assist is nearly as good as my frame's: runs the equations for gravity, air density and composition, wind, rotation … the whole gamut. It'll also handshake any computer and surveillance system within twenty metres." She shrugged. "Thought it might help."

Busy test-driving the visor's biofeedback tool, Garrus nodded absently. "Thank you, Officer." While a far shot from his frame, the visor took away a little of the feeling of being blind and deaf. Before they landed on the presidium, he'd unlocked the hacking and override tools and wormed into the shuttle's systems, using the exterior cameras to run surveillance on the ground. To borrow a human phrase: the visor was cool.

When he glanced over at Shepard, the C-Sec officer grinned and winked. Unsure how to respond, he simply returned the nod with one of genuine thanks. The captain had been right: indiscreet compassion.

The shuttle landed right outside the elevator, nearly crushing one of the Keepers, the little bot skittering away, pushed along by the thrusters. Like a mother _maraquil_ , Shepard herded them off the shuttle and into the carriage. It made for cramped quarters, but even inside, her people stood guard, weapons aimed at the window while hers was trained on the door.

When they arrived outside the council chambers, Shepard had them wait in the elevator. Garrus bristled … again. Every one of them carried arms, and none of them were diplomats unable to protect themselves. They should be going in together, one squad. Of course, leadership of that squad might prove problematic.

"Relax." Saren thumped him in the side with an elbow. "Shepard's people have it under control."

The human looked back through the door. "We're clear in here," she said, beckoning to them, her eyes and her weapon in constant motion.

Garrus kept his hand on the grip of his sidearm, her vigilance demanding that he match it. If a danger to his people festered under the starched white surface of that bureaucratic hell, he wouldn't let a squad of strangers beat it down.

"Executor Bailey just missed the elevator," Shepard said. "He'll be here momentarily to escort you to the council." She gave them a tight lipped smile and leaned up to give the krogan officer a hushed order, sending him up to the top of the next set of stairs. "Ridgefield," she called to the turian. "Check the side corridors and balconies again. Make sure no one's crept back in hoping to get a moment of the council's undivided attention."

Garrus frowned. They'd completely closed the council chambers. On Shepard's word? Or the executor's? He focused on the Senior Investigator, the knots in his gut twisting into a ball of squirming _suluvermis._

Despite the beauty that surrounded them, Shepard's eyes remained fixed on the dark shadows between. Garrus found himself searching the length of the tree-lined balconies as the SI reached up to her comms. "Anyone having any luck with the lighting in here? I want full daylight before the council enters." She scoffed, a low rattle of phlegm in her throat. "Yeah, well someone can explain the aesthetics of poorly lit ambience and political mystery to me after this meeting adjourns and everyone's still alive."

The elevator door opened, a tall, blonde human and six C-Sec officers in full tac armour stepping out. Garrus drew back, pulling his sidearm, but keeping it tight against his thigh, out of view as the officers approached. The blonde held out his hand. "Captain Arterius? Spectre Alenko? Executor Armando Bailey, Citadel Security." The executor clasped their wrists and then gestured toward the far end of the space. "Let's get you to your meeting."

Again, Garrus hung back. He signalled to Kryik and Kandros to watch the group's flanks. When he turned to position Jennus behind the captain, he noticed Shepard still standing at the door.

"Shepard?" Bailey called, turning back.

Shepard looked around, her hand rubbing the grip on her sidearm, the nervous habit giving away her unease. "I don't know what's usual for this place, but everything about it is creeping me the fuck out, right now, sir." She looked to Bailey. "You go ahead. The council has heard everything I have to say." Her hand stilled, but never left her pistol. "We'll keep our eyes on your backs."

Saren turned back to grip Shepard's shoulder. "Thank you, Senior Investigator. As soon as we're finished with the council, I'll call, and we can meet to go over what I know of Anderson's history."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that." Shepard's tone read completely neutral, businesslike and professional, but something about the gleam in her eyes as she looked at the captain made Garrus wonder if they were flirting. Before he could give it even half a thought, Shepard reached out. "Pleasure to meet you, Commander Vakarian." Her grip on his wrist felt cold and stiff compared to when she touched him at the _Normandy,_ and something in her stare …. Spirits, whatever the nuances, that gaze amounted to pure warning.

"Thank you, Senior Investigator." Yes, something had her good and rattled, and despite having met her mere _sextims_ before—and her annoying over-familiarity—he trusted her instincts. "And thank you, for everything." When she released him and stepped back, he pulled himself back into line, forming his will and discipline into a steel rod that ran the length of his spine. If Shepard's instincts proved themselves, he'd be ready … his people would be ready. They were turian.

"Spirits," Jennus grumbled as they reached the last set of stairs. "It's too quiet in here. Feels like there are _morumplacus_ hiding everywhere, just waiting to drop down on us."

"Easy, Private," Garrus said, layering in a heavy dose of 'calm the _mabul_ down'. "The council closed the chambers to deal with Anderson and his mess. It's going to be quiet." Despite his words, Garrus couldn't get the look in Shepard's eyes out of his mind, the quiet pleading in her stare digging in under his plates. He jogged up the stairs, moving his people along. The sooner they got the council meeting over with, the sooner they'd be back aboard the _Normandy_ and tracking the bastard down.

Jennus shrieked, a high, keening shrill of terror that yanked Garrus around to face the youngster. Raising his pistol even as he spun, he brought it to bear on Jennus, booted talons digging into the tile.

An asari wrapped an arm around Jennus's neck. Where the _mabul_ had she come from? Another held Kandros the same way a couple of metres away, that one edging toward the front of the room. Five metres to Garrus's left, Kryik made a noise that broadcast the fact that he'd been grabbed as well. Garrus focused on the threat in front of him. "Release him."

A sharp, mean-spirited laugh answered him. "I have a counter offer; move and they all die." The asari met Garrus's eyes with an ice-cold smile, one that kicked his gut off a five-hundred-metre cliff. He caught it before it hit bottom and squared his shoulders. Losing one or two of his people was inevitable, no doubt, but the asari hadn't killed them instantly. They needed shields, which gave him a few extra seconds.

He tore his stare from Jennus, looking to Kandros and Kryik. Both nodded, their expressions scared but all business and buttoned down. _By the numbers, people. We get out of this by the numbers._

"You've made an error," Garrus called to the one holding Jennus. "Turians go into every battle prepared to die. We gladly sacrifice ourselves for our brothers and sisters."

The _nais_ laughed, green eyes sharp as shards of broken bottles. "He will sacrifice himself only for me." She leaned in against Jennus's ear. "Look me in the eye," she whispered, the tone warm, one used by a lover, and yet it burned Garrus's brain like frozen iron.

Despite his resolve, Garrus cried out, a wordless shout of denial that made no difference. Garrus lunged for the youth, talons screeching over ceramic and metal as Jennus turned to stare into those black, fathomless nightmares, his mandibles falling slack.

"Tell me you love me," she whispered, brushing a flawless teal cheek against the private's. "Tell me that you'll fight to the death to protect me."

"I will die to protect you," Jennus whispered, his voice thin and hollow, robbed of any subvocals. The youngster turned toward Garrus and Saren, his assault rifle settling sure and deadly in his hands even as he finished, "I love you. You are the only star in my sky."

Garrus glanced to the captain, Saren as ready and still as the rest. Counting each breath, he timed the storm, moments ticking away before chaos tore apart the fragile stillness. All of his people poised a breath from death. One moment too many and they'd lose the war before they even ….

Moving fast, he traded his sidearm for his assault rifle, a single motion ... and the signal. As Saren opened fire on the ardat yakshi holding Jennus, Garrus's barrel sliced the air to take aim on another asari, that one racing up the center of the council chambers. He squeezed off a single shot, before Shepard and the two C-Sec officers appeared, sprinting at the _nais's_ side.

"Friendlies!" Shepard stumbled as the round grazed her side. She glanced toward he and Saren as she recovered, but just for the sparest of seconds before aiming toward the council. "Bailey!" Shepard called without the slightest shift in vector. "Asari incoming, at least a dozen. Lystheni gunmen on the upper balconies."

Garrus spun, turning his gun on the two holding Kryik and Kandros, grateful for the targeting visor as he skimmed shots over his struggling squad's shoulders.

"Rilla!" Shepard's asari shouted. "Falere! Stop this! You're not killers."

"Mother?" The two holding Kryik and Kandros hesitated for the briefest of seconds, but long enough. Kryik and Kandros twisted from their grip, launching themselves against their captors, bearing them to the floor.

"They're after the council and Alenko," Shepard shouted. She grabbed the krogan's hand, pulling him up the stairs to the supplicant's platform. "I'm going for the council, cover the Spectre." She peeled off, running around the edge of the room, heading for the council's platform.

"Kill them all," the first asari commanded, her lips pressed next to Jennus's aural canal. The warm, lover's caress of her tone slammed into Garrus harder than the bullets that erupted from Jennus's assault rifle.

His shield warning flashing at the corner of his visor, Garrus opened fire, taking the young private down with two clean headshots before he turned the gun on the ardat yakshi. He managed to squeeze off a single shot, and then she vanished, reappearing two dozen metres away, directly behind Alenko.

"More asari coming in from all sides!" Saren shouted, shoving Garrus toward cover. "Kryik, cover the bastards on the balcony."

Although Garrus couldn't hear the ardat yakshi's words over the thunder of gunfire, he knew the moment she'd taken Alenko, the blank-faced Spectre throwing himself in front of her, acting as her shield while she moved in on the council. Garrus aimed low, trying to take out the Spectre's legs, but then Shepard's krogan raced between him and the target.

The krogan C-Sec officer barely slowed as they reached the end of the platform. With a grace that Garrus didn't think krogan possessed, he spun as he slammed into the ardat yakshi holding Alenko. Pivoting, the behemoth grabbed the Spectre in a bear hug, and hurled the both of them over the end of the platform onto the glass below.

Even as he opened fire on the unprotected asari, Garrus saw Shepard leap the small gap and barricade at the corner of the council's platform. The ardat yakshi who'd killed Jennus scrambled to her feet, offering Garrus an open target. Her perfectly painted lips opened in a slight gasp as Garrus's explosive rounds ripped through her throat and chest. She folded, graceful to the last, spurting violet blood across the spotless tile floor.

"Geth, protect your councillor!" Garrus heard Shepard's command end with a harsh grunt of air and looked back at the C-Sec officer in time to see her slam into the krogan councillor hard enough that she drove her into the human, bearing them both to the floor.

"Get down, obluvis," Saren said, mostly subvocal growl, as he shoved Garrus down behind a planter. Garrus broke loose and bolted up the left side, enemy rounds tearing up the tile at his heels as he followed Shepard over the railing. Instead of going for the council, he took cover, pelting the asari with bullets as they charged, rapidly closing on them. Kryik and Kandros had retreated up behind a set of large planters, three asari getting far too close.

"Do you have the council?" he shouted at Shepard, not daring to look back to check on her progress, the asari closing on his people requiring all of his limited resources.

His rounds tore through the failing barriers of the ardat yakshi closest to him, shredding her spine. She dropped, screaming … a thin wail that dug in between the folds of his brain. His remaining squad dropped another, and Garrus moved on, trusting them to be able to finish off the last.

"I've got the council, just try to keep them off us," the C-Sec officer called back. "Madame Councilor, crawl for the staging room. Councilor Udina, stay down!" Scrambling up, she took position over them, her pistol in constant motion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shepard reach down, helping the geth drag the quarian toward the doors along the side while the krogan and human half-crouched, half-crawled behind her. Despite her burden and calling encouragement to the other two, she continued to pelt the half dozen remaining ardat yakshi with rounds in a steady, controlled three shot pattern.

Light drew Garrus attention down the length of the chambers. The elevator. Reinforcements for someone, but who? Down on the second level, Garrus heard screams, deep though, not shrill. Male screams. He caught Kryik's eye and sent him two sharp hand signals. The LT nodded and jumped up on top of the planter. After coaxing Kandros up after him, he boosted the _tarin_ up onto the balcony before following.

Garrus let out a relieved breath as his people made it up and in behind the railing. Good, two with some decent cover. Movement drew his fire to two lystheni who had high cover over Saren. Focusing on the fight, Garrus struggled to master the heavy, wet cloak wrapped around his senses. He was scattered, throwing bullets at anything that moved rather than fighting smart and efficiently. Only part of it could be blamed on his missing neural frame.

A moment later, Shepard hit the railing next to him. "Council's locked in their panic room," she said, leaning up a little to look down. Garrus followed her stare for a second, quickly squashing the sympathy he felt when he saw her krogan friend and Alenko, the pair lying strewn on the grass.

"I'm going up," she said. He opened his mouth to argue, but she was already in motion. "I'll come in behind the ones on Arterius." Crouching low, she bolted toward the nearest office. Garrus swallowed his annoyance, something far more troubling than the reckless human appearing on the last set of stairs.

At the center of a group of eight lystheni and four, cloaked figures, Anderson mounted the last stair. Without sparing the slightest notice for the battle raging around him, he strode down the center of the supplicant's platform: the rightful heir stepping forward to take his throne.

Shuddering at that image, Garrus opened fire on the rogue Spectre, the hits flaring blue as a heavy, dome-shaped barrier deflected the rounds. So, more asari under those cloaks. Strong ones.

Shepard appeared above him, racing low along the wall, using the shadows she'd tried to get abolished as she closed in on the lystheni keeping Saren pinned. An orange flash illuminated her a second before the lystheni fell, tipping over the railing. Another second, and another body. Damn, whatever weapon she had built into her omnitool … he needed one.

No longer pinned, Saren jumped up, racing toward Anderson as the squad reached the end of the platform, the Spectre's troops circling to cover him as he activated his omnitool. A large computer console rose up out of the platform, stunning Garrus into inaction for a half second. The shock shattered when Anderson's fingers began moving over the interface.

"Anderson! What is the meaning of all this?" The tight, accented male voice spun Garrus around. What in the pits? What could Udina be thinking?

"Councillor, get down!" Garrus launched himself at the human, arms latching on around the man's legs as he tried to throw him out of the line of fire. Yes! He had him!

Then his arms closed on empty air, and he slammed into the floor, sliding a good five metres before he hit the railing and rolled over to scramble up. Halfway to his feet, he spotted the human councillor, a brilliant blue field holding the man pinned against the ceiling. Before Garrus even had time to register what he was looking at, the field vanished, and Udina dropped to the tile, landing in a broken heap.

"No!" Shock tore the word from Garrus's throat as he scrambled up, sprinting back to slam into cover behind the railing. His assault rifle danced along the line of overheating as he opened fire on the Spectre from the front while Saren's warp and shotgun hammered at the enemy from behind. Damn, no good. They couldn't bring down that barrier: the four asari made it all but impregnable.

They needed to get it down. Whatever Anderson was doing, the citadel had begun to vibrate around them. Heart pounding so hard it bashed against the backside of his keel, Garrus swallowed a brief moment of panic. Targis! Anderson could be sending the gigantic station into a self-destruct sequence, obliterating the galaxy's government and a large portion of its fleet in a single blow.

However, panic wouldn't solve anything. Swallowing a well grown krogan, the commander pulled back on all the unravelling threads and tied them down.

"Captain Arterius!" A storey above, Shepard leaned out over the balcony railing. "I can't jump that far, can you give me an assist?" Without even waiting for an answer, she backed up several strides and dig in, racing for the railing. Planting one foot on top of the glass and steel enclosure, she vaulted into the air.

He saw her plan. Brilliant but mindbogglingly reckless.

Luckily for the SI, Saren's biotics caught her, providing the extra momentum she needed as he flung her into the small group clustered behind the computer. Hollering like a euphoric fool on a theme park ride, Shepard spread her arms, a wide blade glowing on her right wrist. Slamming into Anderson, she sent he and four asari sprawling, one of them rolling off the edge. Reluctant admiration burned in the back of Garrus's throat as the barrier fell, and his first three rounds took out a lystheni.

"Beautifully stupid!" Saren shouted, advancing up the supplicant platform, his own barrier glowing strong around him. Warps flew from his left hand, his right keeping up a steady stream of rounds from the shotgun couched in his elbow, held tight against his body.

All of the sudden, Garrus found himself laughing, low and ever so slightly maniacal as Shepard scrambled up, the expression on her face one of adrenaline-fueled bliss. Instead of firing on the enemy, she turned her attention to the computer, her fingers flying over the interface, trusting he and the others to cover her … which they did.

As fast as Shepard worked, the rumble under Garrus's talons amplified even more rapidly. It grew deeper, more threatening, but that just spurred Shepard on, maniacal laughter of her own rising above the slowly fading din of battle. Spirits, he was either surrounded by lunatics or heroes like those from legend … maybe both.

Letting out a faint scream of frustration, Shepard abandoned her laughter and the computer's interface, turning instead to her omnitool. It took him a second of reading displays backwards to realize that she was setting up a seriously overclocked electrical discharge. Garrus ceased fire as the last lystheni protecting Anderson went down. He set his Overload as well, keying it as high as he dare. Shepard's looked set to knock her out, and she'd need him to cover her.

She met his eyes through the holo screens for a half second, then drew a deep breath and nodded. Slamming her hand down into the console, she sent searing blue arcs of electricity tearing through the electronics. Garrus's arced across open space, aiming for the power feeds at the base. Sparks flew and small fires ignited as components and power conduits shorted out, then the entire thing went up, the explosion throwing Shepard down the platform. As he'd guessed, she landed in a still, unconscious heap.

"Anderson!" Saren screamed, his voice a roar of fury the like of which Garrus never thought he'd hear from the even-tempered captain.

Struggling to their feet, two of the cloaked figures grabbed Anderson and hauled him up off the floor. Holding him between them, they jumped down through the hole in the glass. After a half-breath of stunned gawking, Garrus lunged up, opening fire, but they'd reformed their barrier, the shots glancing off as they floated down, then ran out of sight.

Announced by the thunder of racing boots, C-Sec officers flooded up the stairs, every last one of them outfitted for a war that had nearly ended before it began. Still, their numbers pulled down the last few holdouts within seconds.

Garrus braced a hand against the floor, the tiles quiet beneath his talons. Whatever Anderson stared, Shepard ended. Spirits, what madness had gripped his universe? He looked toward Shepard. And hers.

Saren ran the last few strides to kneel beside Shepard, talons searching the senior investigator for signs of life. A relieved slump in the captain's spine told Garrus that he'd met with success.

All right, time to start sorting the mess. Weariness leached into his bones even as he forced himself up off the floor and shuffled over to crouch at Udina's side, the targeting visor confirming the human councillor's death. Nothing to be done there, but judging from the moans drifting up the chamber, plenty of wounded needed help.

Garrus clambered over the low railing at the corner where he'd hurdled it just _sextims_ before. At the edge of the first level, where it had all begun, he crouched next to Jennus, thanking the spirits that clean shooting spared the kid a painful death.

"Sorry about that, Private," he said, gentle talons closing the kid's eyes. A vague sort of sadness pressed at the edges of the wet cloak, and for the first time, he found himself grateful for the slowed mental and emotional processing. Hopefully it would take a couple of _orhans_ and a few drinks before the walls fell. By then he'd be safely ensconced in his closet, and could shake himself to pieces without any prying eyes looking on.

Metres to his left, Shepard woke hollering, no doubt deafened by the console exploding right next to her. Garrus let one knee thump to the floor, bracing his arm across his thigh as he watched the C-Sec officer look around, suddenly frantic. Scrambling to the edge of the platform, she laid down, draped over the edge, calling out to her krogan friend.

Damn, the Spectre. He pushed up and stumbled that way, wondering if they'd saved Alenko on Aephus just to let him get killed where he should be safest.

Safe? Nowhere was safe; Anderson had seen to that.

He mounted the short ramp onto the narrow platform, then turned to look down the long room. Bodies lay strewn everywhere, too many wearing friendly armour.

"Hey, hero of Aephus, you okay?" Kryik called down. The LT leaned against the railing, a sheet of blue painted down his face. One of his arms wrapped securely around Kandros, keeping her on her feet. Both injured, but alive. Thank the spirits.

Garrus just nodded, his brain tangled up in trying to decide what in the deepest, darkest pits of _buratrum_ had they walked into on Aephus?

And what in the name of all the twisted, dishonoured souls who haunted that realm had Shepard just saved them from?

* * *

(A-N: Well, if that ain't a body count. :D This chapter was so much fun to write. I hope you enjoyed the madness. Thanks to everyone who reads and to those who review. They really do help keep me going, and sometimes even inform the story's direction. *hugs*)


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Ten - Loose Ends**

 **Spurin:** (turian) Equivalent of bastard, but in the sense of an unpleasant and despicable person rather than the sense of being of illegitimate birth.

 **Qadin** : (krogan: pronounced kah-dihn) Female after undergoing the rite of passage (female version)

 **Qisan** : (krogan: pronounced kee-sahn) Male after undergoing the rite of passage

 **Torin** : (turian) Male of the age of majority.

Turian time is expressed in a digital form in descending order. Example: 5381:04:20:26:19:09 is the date of the attack on Aephus down to the Ahtrix (second). **Expressed in turian terms:** **Cycle** (year): **Tadecem** (month): **Luxin** (day): **Orhan** (hour): **Sextim** (minute): **Ahtrix** (second)

 **The Citadel Council Chambers** 5381:04:23:01 **:13:31**

Shepard threw herself belly down over the corner of the supplicant's platform, squeezing herself between the ruined computer and the railing. Her head pounding, her heart a dead lump of ice in her chest, she searched for any sign of life in the sprawled body of her best friend. "Frulk!" Hanging over the edge from her hips up, she stretched out her arms as if somehow she could reach down and lift him to safety. "Damn it, Frulk! Come on, big guy, give me something."

A hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her back. "I can help."

Shepard twisted to look up into bright blue irises, nodding when she saw the promise there. Captain Arterius's biotics had managed to throw her more than a dozen metres. "You can lift them?" she asked, already scrambling up. Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed two dead lystheni by the legs and dragged them to the ramp, letting them roll down into a pile. They'd need to clear the end of the platform to make room for Frulk and the Spectre.

"When I lift them," the turian captain said, returning from dumping a couple more bodies, "it'll help if you can guide them over the railing." He shrugged, head tilting a little, almost sheepish, as if he'd admitted some weakness. "It's been a long fight."

Shepard grinned and pressed a hand against the keel of his armour. Jesus, he was about to perform a miracle; he certainly didn't need to apologize for it. "Just … thank you, Captain." She moved aside, leaning out over the railing. Astounded, she watched ... jaw hanging, fingers white-knuckled as the turian enveloped Frulk in a biotic field. As if the massive krogan weighed no more than a child, Arterius lifted him up through the broken glass until he reached the railing.

Gripping Frulk's armour, Shepard pulled him over onto the platform, guiding him as the captain lowered his bulk to the floor. Despite her entire being aching to check the big idiot over, Shepard forced herself back to the railing to help with Alenko. When she pulled the Spectre over the railing, a great many hands pushed her out of the way to rush him onto a stretcher.

Of course, hurry to save the Spectre and just ignore the krogan who saved Alenko's ass. "Thank you, Captain," she said, crawling the metre to Frulk's side.

Shepard's frantic fingers checked for a pulse, then she leaned close to his face, a tight sigh greeting the slight ruffling of her hair as he exhaled.

"I'm fine." The soft rumble of her best friend's voice shattered Shepard's terror. Frulk chuckled as she sprawled across him, arms wrapped around his neck. "Everything's regenerating, Jane." One hand lifted to stroke her hair. "A decent meal and some sleep, I'll be as good as new." He lifted his head. "How's the Spectre? I made sure he landed on top."

Shepard pushed up onto her knees and shook her head, an invisible fist gripped too tightly around her throat to allow words to make it through.

"Spectre Alenko is alive and in capable hands, thanks to you." Arterius crouched at Shepard's side. "I don't think anyone suspected that _spurin_ , Anderson would pull anything so bold." He gripped Shepard's shoulder, the contact warm and steadying. "Thank you for having our backs. The two of you saved a lot of lives."

Shepard nodded, all too aware of the bodies sprawled along the length of the council chambers. The horror of seeing Udina reduced to a heap of shattered bones hung from the back of her throat, its claws ripping at her gag reflex. "Not enough," she whispered. "Not nearly enough."

"It always feels that way." The captain's talons squeezed once, then released her to thump Frulk on the shoulder. "You, stay here and rest. I'll send a medic." Pushing up off his knees, the turian stood, moving on to scan the closest bodies for life signs.

"Shepard!" The officer winced at Chakwas's sharp, accented call. She looked up, but didn't stand as the commander marched down the platform, her glare set to run Shepard through as she demanded, "What in the name of heaven and hell happened here?"

Shepard's eyebrows leaped for her hairline as the turians jumped in front of Chakwas, both Vakarian and Arterius heading her off. Vakarian stepped into the commander's path, answering the woman's question, "Exactly what SI Shepard warned C-Sec and the council was going to happen when she discovered that _spurin_ and his asari were smuggling combatants onto the Citadel."

"Instead of interrogating the people who stopped the attack," Arterius added before Chakwas could do more than inhale, "perhaps you could find us a medic, and then apply your keen, investigative powers to discovering why Anderson invaded the council chambers to use that console."

"Well, damn," Frulk said, reaching up to stroke the hair around Shepard's ear. "Let's keep them on our team." He chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring.

Shepard nodded. The turian captain and XO had Chakwas well in hand. Leaning back down, she caressed Frulk's face, wincing at the bevy of bruises beginning to show through his tough hide. Chakwas, C-Sec … the entire damned lot of them could go to hell if they thought they could pry her from his side.

"That was a hell of a move you pulled there, hero. How are you feeling?" she asked, her fear thawing into a shaky sort of nausea. She kissed his cheek and chin, then the little dimple above his upper lip. "You've got to stop scaring the shit out of me, love, or I swear, I'll kill you myself." She kissed his upper lip. "I need you within arm's reach. You know that, right?" Leaning down to hug her arms around his neck again, she let out a shaky sigh. "You're my saner half."

Frulk's arms wrapped around her, pressing her against his armour. "Does that make you my crazier half?" The strength in his embrace eased back her fear the rest of the way even as he squeezed the air from her lungs.

"Absolutely." Letting out a chuckle that escaped as a thin wheeze, she patted his chest. "Ease up there, cowboy. You're crushing me."

"Commander Chakwas." The firm, controlled baritone of Councillor Urdnot's voice pulled Shepard from Frulk's arms. Both the krogan and quarian councillors approached along the thin platform, Shala'Raan looking shaken while Frulk's mother remained the picture of calm control as she asked, "What's the situation?"

The C-Sec commander stiffened. "Councillor Udina, Executor Bailey and eight officers are dead. One of the Normandy crew died as well. Spectre Alenko is unconscious, but on his way to Huerta Memorial for treatment." She listed off the casualties as if each amounted to some grievous personal insult, and judging by the way she kept throwing spears down the platform, one she blamed squarely on Shepard.

Fuck her.

Then, Chakwas's report registered. Bailey? Dead? Shepard slumped back to sit on her heels. The last she'd seen him, he'd hollered at her to get to the council. She'd thought him right behind her. Fuck. Slipping off her heels, she just kept folding, the metal and ceramic covering her thigh impacting with a dull thock.

Then Frulk caught her, halting her collapse as he pulled her in against him. He didn't speak, the hand stroking her hair saying anything and everything that could be said.

"And the enemy forces?" the councillor asked, turning to look over the pile of lystheni bodies.

"Anderson and two ardat yakshi escaped," Shepard answered, looking up as she pushed off Frulk's chest, still on the clock, needing to pull together the full professional. "It looked as though Anderson was injured: they were carrying him between them. The rest of his forces are dead."

Policing up her grief, Shepard pulled away from the shelter of the arms wrapped around her and stood to face down Chakwas. "Bailey ordered me to get the council to safety, so I did." She inhaled, prepared to demand that they get Frulk a medic, but before she got the words out, the krogan pushed up off the tile. Once up, he wrapped an arm around her again.

"And Councillor Udina?" Chakwas strode over to stand in Shepard's space, one arm stabbing toward the council platform. "How do you explain that, SI Shepard?"

"I—"

"Commander Chakwas," the geth platform said from behind Shala'Raan, cutting Shepard off before she managed to get out a full syllable, "Councillor Udina chose to leave the safe room. He believed he could reason with Spectre Anderson. SI Shepard could not have predicted his actions."

"I want to see Bailey," Shepard said, her voice soft and pitched too low to carry beyond Frulk's hearing. She looked up, searching his eyes for any sign that he was injured or in more pain than he'd admit to. What she saw silenced the last of her concern.

The krogan pushed into Chakwas's space, backing the commander up a little. "As Captain Arterius stated, the electrical discharge from the computer emitted a jolt heavy enough to render SI Shepard unconscious for nearly five minutes." He ushered Shepard past the commanders. "We'll both be in first thing in the morning to file our incident and after action reports. Right now, we're going to pay our respects, then I'm taking her home."

Urdnot Bakara caught her son's hand, halting their retreat. "You'll be staying with Jane?" Her tone made it sound as much an order as a question.

Shepard smiled as the councillor reached up, gentle fingers skating over the visible bruises, unobtrusively checking her son for injury. God, she loved Frulk's family. "He will be," the investigator replied. "And we'll check in with the medics before we go anywhere." Looking back into the brilliant blue of Frulk's eyes, she smiled … cheekiness smoothing into something deeper and warmer as she held his stare. "Don't worry," she said, voice soft and sincere, "I'll take care of him."

"Thank you, SI Shepard." Offering a gracious and regal tilt of her head when Shepard turned her attention back, the councillor held out a hand. "And thank you for our lives."

Shepard gripped the _qadin's_ wrist. "I'm just glad I made it in time. Although, I am sorry for tackling you."

Instead of releasing Shepard's arm, the councillor pulled her closer. "And I'm very sorry for your loss. I know the executor meant a great deal to you."

Pressing her lips together to stop them from trembling, Shepard nodded, as starched as she could manage. "Thank you, Madame Councillor. He was a dear friend and a very good man."

Pulling away, Shepard policed her emotions, refusing to let them betray her, particularly in front of Chakwas. She turned to snap a smart salute. Might as well do it right. "Permission to leave, Commander?" The damned thing was … she respected the woman. Chakwas had dedicated her entire life being the best of the best, and doing it by the book. Their conflicts stemmed entirely from their oil, water, and rocket fuel personalities. "I'll send in my incident and after action reports this evening, and be available to make further statements at 0900."

Chakwas straightened to attention, but also seemed to relax a little. "You're dismissed SI Shepard." She took a long breath. "I'm sorry for your loss. The executor was a very good man." Her throat worked for a second, her grief lifting Shepard's hand to brush her elbow, the silent thanks and support all Shepard could manage in the moment.

Chakwas's hawk-stare darted to Frulk. "Get medical clearance before you leave, SI Urdnot." Snapping a salute that should have dislocated her elbow, the commander turned away and lifted her hand to her ear, calling out orders to lock down all docks and prevent any ships from departing until they were searched.

Shepard winced as she squeezed past, fear twisting knots back into her gut. As much as she hoped C-Sec might catch Anderson, a big part of her just wanted him and his asari bitches as far away from the Citadel as possible. How many officers and customs agents would be killed while Anderson made good his escape? What if he came after her and Frulk, or the _Normandy_ officers?

She slipped, hurrying down the ramp, only Frulk's constant arm saving her from landing on her ass. Slowing, she opted to pick her way over the tiles, the usual spotless gleam splotched and slick: an abstract work painted in blood.

"SI Shepard?" Captain Arterius fell in next to them, also sliding a little as he slowed to match her pace. "I'll contact you in the morning to arrange a time for our interview?" A soft, rolling growl rumbled from his throat. "We need to amass intel as quickly as possible if we're going to get out in front of Anderson and his nightmare."

"Of course, Captain." She smiled at him, the expression a lie that never reached her eyes and melted from her lips when she saw the stress and rage trying to escape his control. "Your private, Jennus? I'm very sorry for your loss." Looking past him, she acknowledged Vakarian, the XO guarding his captain's flank, eyes watching for attack from everywhere.

And he wasn't wrong. Anderson remained at large on the Citadel with at least two powerful asari allies. Shepard nodded to the turian commander, more a gesture of solidarity than anything. Damn, she should be going back to work, not taking time to feel sorry for herself. Bailey deserved a moment, and a proper farewell, but he'd kick her ass if she spent days crying over him rather than making sure the Citadel was secure.

Fuck, she needed a drink.

The other two turian officers fell in behind them as they made their way down to the garden level. Arterius stuck tight to Shepard's side. "Did you see what Anderson was trying to do with the computer console?"

Shepard paused, turning toward the _torin_. She hadn't had more than a half-second to think about it. At the time, she'd been trying to fight her way through layers of overrides to shut it down. "The Citadel was powering up to do something, but I'm sorry, I didn't investigate. I figured whatever he'd brought them there to do was something the rest of us didn't want to happen." Glancing over her shoulder, she shook her head a little. She couldn't see the console from there, but it remained in her mind's eye, screens displaying … what?

Meeting the captain's stare with a scowl, she shook her head again, the inside of her lower lip finding it's way between her teeth. She couldn't remember any details of the processes. "Sorry," she said at last, "I can't remember anything. Hopefully they'll be able to figure something out from the smoking mess. Shutting it down by any means possible seemed like the best plan at the time."

Slipping a sincere, grateful smile past Arterius's shoulder, she met Vakarian's gaze again. "Thanks for the assist on that."

His mandibles spread and fluttered a little. She thought it a wry sort of smile. "Any time."

"We'll leave you to rest," Arterius said. "I need to get my people back to the _Normandy_. I'm sure C-Sec will have questions for us, but they can come to us to get their answers." He held out an arm to usher her down the chamber. "Watch your back, Shepard."

"You as well, Captain." She followed. "The shuttle should still be sitting at the base of the tower. Just leave it at the end of the docking arm." Activating her omnitool, she sent him the operator codes. "And I'll talk to you tomorrow." She nodded to the others, then turned to take Frulk's hand.

"The turians seem like good sorts," the krogan said, releasing her hand to tuck her in against his side. "They fight like krogan."

Shepard nodded. "They do, and both Vakarian and Arterius ran straight in to have my back when I needed them." She offered him a wan smile. "The captain knew exactly what I had in mind when I jumped after Anderson, which is rare enough to be noteworthy." A lopsided shrug answered Frulk's questioning stare. "He's a really strong biotic, as well … chucked me fifteen metres like I didn't weigh any more than a basketball."

Frulk grunted, a soft grumble. "You don't."

The cluster of C-Sec gathered around a short line up of bodies, the crowd parting as they approached. Shepard spotted Bailey's blonde head at the one end, then looked down the line, stalling at the spikey, dark brown face halfway through. All the air rushed from her lungs, the blood flushing from her head and heart.

Ridgefield.

"Oh fuck," Shepard whispered, a grenade going off in her gut that threatened to erupt either as vomit or a scream. "Mellina and the kids." She clapped a hand over her mouth, needing the dam to keep the rest of her reaction contained. Shaking her head, she pushed Frulk away as he tried to draw her close. Instead she shoved her way between the gathered officers to crouch at her partner's feet. Tears poured into her head, the pressure blocking her throat and pounding behind her eyes.

One trembling hand reached out to rest on the turian's boot. "Oh, fuck, Ridgefield … I'm so sorry." She should have left him out of all that shit. Including him … it had been pure selfishness … her fear insisting that she kept people she trusted at her six. Looking away, she blinked back the salty burn in the corners of her eyes. She pushed up, straightening to a rigid, brittle attention, distracted hands dusting down her armour.

At least his face looked peaceful, eyes closed, muscles slack. A harsh sob wrestled its way up her throat, bashing itself against the backs of her clenched teeth. How fucking obtuse … being grateful that bullets ended his life rather than the frigid grip of an ardat yakshi's power.

All those late nights and weekends she'd covered his damned family time ... grumbling and cursing the entire …. She pressed her palm tighter against her mouth, her teeth clamped down on the inside of her lip. Dear God. She needed to be the one to tell his wife and kids. Her knees trembled. How?

 _Sorry sweeties, you have to grow up without your_ pari _because I asked him to back me up in a situation I knew was doomed to head straight to hell. It should have been me._

Strong hands gripped her shoulders. "Go say goodbye to Bailey."

Breaking free of Frulk's support once again, she moved to do as he said, managing a single step before she stalled, the tears finally bullying their way past her control. No. No, not there. She couldn't break down in front of all those eyes. Backing away, she shook her head. Her goodbye could wait.

Chloe Michel appeared in the sea of blue and black, her red hair and white uniform a volley of flares launched through a pitch black night. Too bright. Too indecently bright. Shepard blinked, fast and hard, fighting back the stinging assault.

"Officers Shepard and Udnot. Are you injured?" The woman gripped Shepard's hand before moving over her face and neck. "Fern pattern burns," the doctor said, the words floating between them, only taking meaning once the orange glare of her omnitool sent Shepard into a full retreat behind closed eyelids.

Burns? Where would she have gotten … ? Oh, right. Overloading the console. A cool mist sprayed over her skin, easing an ache she hadn't taken the time to notice until it vanished, and a syringe pressed to her neck.

"There. Go home and rest. Doctor's orders." The orange light disappeared. "You both have my condolences. I'll call you once we move the executor … " Her words faded into faint, mumbled sympathies that Shepard couldn't make out over the thunder inside her head. "...privacy." After another minute, the doctor clucked her tongue softly. "You're healing well on your own, Officer Urdnot. Rest and food are the best things for you right now."

And then the bright, empathetic tide rolled out, leaving Shepard weary and shaken. "I need to go see Ridgefield's family," she said, the words coming out of their own volition.

Frulk wrapped his arm around her. "All right, then the rest of the night belongs to me, fried chicken, enough alcohol to fill a bathtub, and sleep."

Shepard allowed the contact that time, both of her arms slipping around his waist. "Deal."

 **The Citadel: Shepard's Apartment** 5381:04:23:04 **:30:16**

" _You know he couldn't have been anywhere else, Jane. You were his partner … and he loved you."_

Shepard slammed her palm against the shower control, turning the water off, then leaned into the wall, her hands braced against the tile.

"Jane?"

She didn't turn as Frulk's footsteps entered the bathroom. His feet still sounded bare, but he'd dressed. She let out a sigh as she heard the whisper of fabric. "Yeah, I'm fine … and sorry. I—"

The soft fluffiness of a towel wrapped around her from behind. "You don't ever have to apologize to me," he said, gentle hands stroking the towel over her skin. He leaned into her, arms wrapping around her, his chin resting on her shoulder. "I left because I don't want you to regret having sex with me."

Shepard nodded and turned in his arms. "I know, and thanks. I would have felt like shit for using you. You don't deserve that." She kissed him, then stepped away. "I'll throw on some PJs and then we'll commence the drinking portion of this fucked up nightmare."

As she brushed past him, she slipped her hand into his, pulling him along behind her. "Thank you for going to see Mellina with me," she said, leading him out of the dim, humid bathroom into the brightly lit warmth of her bedroom. She paused at the thermostat to turn the heat up a little more. "I don't think I would've been brave enough to get out of the car if you hadn't been there with me."

Frulk sat at the end of the bed, watching her as she dug into her dresser, pulling out a fluffy set of flannel pyjamas. "Yeah, you would've, but there was no point in you facing it alone." He reached out, his hand warm and heavy as it stroked her hair. When she dressed, he pulled her over to stand between his thighs, taking the towel to dry her hair.

"Did you order food along with the booze?" she asked, her voice wavering as her entire body shook under his hands.

"I didn't because I received a call before I could that told me not to."

As if on cue, the door chimed, and he chuckled. "That'll be Wrex and the councillor now." He draped the towel around her neck. "I'll let them in."

Shepard stepped back, unwrapping the towel and throwing it in her hamper on the way to the closet for her robe. Thank God that Frulk's parents were used to seeing her in her pyjamas. She had no intention—

"Where is she?" Her father's furious voice echoed through the apartment.

"Jane is—" The rest of Frulk's reply disappeared into the sound of her door slamming back into the wall. "Commander! She's had a long day."

"Long day?" C-Sec Commander Shepard appeared in the bedroom door. "What about Bailey and Councillor Udina and the eight officers dead at the scene?" Roaring across the threshold like a tornado, Shepard's father slammed into her. Grabbing fistfuls of her robe, he lifted her up off the floor and shook her. "How did you fuck up badly enough to get so many good cops killed? Were you too busy whoring yourself out to have their backs?"

Shepard leaned back, wincing away from the spray of furious spittle. Pain twisted her father's face into a mask she'd seen once before. "Sir, I got—"

He threw her, a brief moment of weightlessness followed by the air slamming from her lungs as she impacted against her dresser. Pain lanced across her lower back, as sharp and unforgiving as the wooden lip above the top drawers. A split second later, before she had time to do more than gasp, the floor leaped up to smack her in the face, burning raw furrows along her shins, palms and nose as she sprawled across the carpet.

"Commander!" A spirit of pure fury, the like of which she'd never witnessed from her lover and best friend, Frulk snatched Shepard Sr. right off his feet, shaking him like a varren with a pyjak in its mouth. "Jane nearly killed herself saving everyone on the fucking station during the attack." Oblivious to the man's kicking and hollering, the krogan hauled him out the door. A few seconds later, Shepard heard her father slam into the hallway floor. "If you come back," Frulk said, his voice echoing, a low, dangerous roll of thunder, "I'll put a bullet in you."

The door slammed, and then her lover hurried into the room, gentle hands helping her up off the floor. "Jane?" Cradling her against his body, he eased Shepard over to the bed, sitting her down. "Easy there," he said, all the rage of the moment before transformed into tenderness. "Just breathe."

Trembling, Shepard leaned into his support, her diaphragm refusing to do anything more than spasm, her lungs burning and her brain roaring for air. A large warm hand rubbed her back, easing the locked up muscles.

"Just breathe," he coaxed. "I've got you."

After another twenty seconds, good cool air managed to wrestle its way down into her lungs. She flopped forward into his arms, hers wrapping around his neck. Nothing like a truly shitty ending to a completely horrible day.

The door chimed again, Shepard staggering to her feet. If her father stood on the other side, she wouldn't let him catch her off guard again. Before she could begin to work up a good head of steam, Frulk grabbed her hand.

"I'll get it." He dug into a pocket and passed her an ampule of medigel. "Put this on your abrasions, they smell raw." A soft chuckle and a shake of his head greeted her attempt to argue. "I'll check before I open it this time."

Shepard spread on the medigel, scarcely getting it applied before the room filled with krogan, bringing with them worried frowns, concerned threats, and gentle embraces.

Shepard caught the scent of fried chicken, deep-fried mushrooms, and her favourite spring rolls, and her stomach let out a sound reminiscent of a pack of starving varren.

"We'd better start feeding you before those animals get loose and start gnawing on us," Wrex said, his overloud, jovial voice just the thing to push back the horror of the day. "Come and sit down, after Bakara told me about Anderson's attack, I heard from my protege: he's out hunting down pirates on the planet, Therum. He found something that might help peel back some of these mysteries."

Shepard allowed the family to herd her out to the living room. "Grunt discovered something that'll help?" She chuckled. "On Therum? Isn't that a protected Prothean cultural site?" She winced as she imagined all the damage Wrex's very enthusiastic, young apprentice could cause … the proverbial bull in a china shop. She curled up next to Frulk as his parents served up the food. "We'd better get there to intercede; I'm not sure history can withstand Grunt for very long."

Wrex laughed, a comforting rumble, but shrugged. "Don't underestimate the boy, he's got good instincts as well as a talent for smashing everything in sight. He found an old ardat yakshi base that dates back to the Nightwind Rebellion. Says there's evidence of interference from an unknown race of aliens." He passed her a plate of food and a large, plastic cup of wine. "Eat, and then we'll talk about what he found."

Shepard bolted upright. "What? He sent you intel from the ground?" Heart pounding, hopeful and excited, she dove into her chicken, taking a massive bite out of a breast and washing it down with a mouthful of wine. If Grunt really had found something important, she'd pass the intel on to Captain Arterius … maybe even use it to buy herself a spot on the _Normandy_ when they went to check it out.

 _Don't worry …_ She closed her eyes, conjuring Bailey and Ridgefield before her mind's eye. … _we'll find that bastard and shut him down. You won't have died for nothing. I promise that. If it's the last thing I do, I'll bring Anderson to justice._

 _(A-N: Aftermath galore, but at least out of the chaos, there's a chance of finding their way forward. Thanks, as always for reading and for your kind words in reviews. Believe me, even Great job, or I liek dis, is a great encouragement to keep up with the story. *hugs*)_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Eleven - Spectre**

 **Buratrum** _-_ (turian) The realm of the spirits of dishonourable association. Equivalent of hell.

 **Tarc** \- (turian) Vulgar expletive equivalent to shit.

 **Torin** \- (turian) Male of the age of majority.

 **Priluxin -** (turian) Yesterday

Turian time is expressed in a digital form in descending order. Example: 5381:04:20:26:19:09 is the date of the attack on Aephus down to the Ahtrix (second). **Expressed in turian terms:** **Cycle** (year): **Tadecem** (month): **Luxin** (day): **Orhan** (hour): **Sextim** (minute): **Ahtrix** (second)

 **The Normandy** 5381:04:23:12 **:10:04**

Yawning wide enough that his jaw cracked, Garrus stumbled on the first step up to the CIC. Letting out a soft curse, he yawned again, then reached up and scratched the back of his neck. SI Shepard was going to prove the death of him with her insanely early wake up calls. Trailing his talons along the wall, he managed to make the top of the stairs without stumbling again despite four more yawns.

The captain already sat in the comm room, his chair turned to face the hologram of the C-Sec investigator. Arterius glanced back, nodded, and gestured to the chair across from him. "Take a seat, Vakarian. Instead of resting, SI Shepard spent last evening finding us intel on the ardat yakshi, and judging by this vid …" The captain lifted a hand, giving Shepard a small wave, and the image changed to a shaky, first person camera focused on a large bound transcription of some sort. "... they knew what that creature or ship was on Aephus."

Instead of sitting, Garrus strode closer to the projection, trying to make out the faint markings on the page. The camera swung around to show the image from a familiar angle, the horror drawn onto that yellowed surface one he recognized all too well.

"Spirits," he whispered, "that's it. That's what we saw." He stumbled backward into a chair, sitting down hard. "Is there any word on what it is?" Glancing over at the captain, Garrus struggled to control the heady combination of fear and excitement that sent his heart alternately racing and then stopping dead. "Are we going out there to retrieve the book?"

"That will depend on the council," he answered. "We've been summoned to meet with them in the chambers in four _orhans_." The captain cocked his head, as if trying to see behind the image. "SI Shepard, can we count on your presence at the council meeting?"

The image shifted to show the C-Sec officer, her pale, spot-covered face alight with hope. "If you want me there, I'll make sure I am, Captain. I've got an interview with the new executor of Citadel Security this morning, but it shouldn't last too long." She smiled, but her eyes looked fierce rather than amused, and something about the way she focused on the captain unnerved him. Her regard felt too intent, too … what … passionate? "There's only so many ways to say what happened."

Garrus cleared his throat and shoved his thoughts away from the uncomfortable implications of the C-Sec officer's stare. "Have you heard any word on Spectre Alenko?" Garrus asked, meeting the captain's glare with even regard. His motives aside, he posed a valid question. After Aephus, he considered Alenko part of his team, and with the way Jennus died, the crew needed some good news.

"I spoke to Dr. Michel this morning. Spectre Alenko is in a coma," Shepard replied, shifting into a closed-off parade rest, hands locked behind her back. "His physical injuries are all healing well, but he's showing brain injury even from the few seconds the ardat yakshi had him dominated. She's investigating treatment options, but doesn't really know what to do. She thinks we might need to find an asari matriarch to counteract the damage, but as you can guess, no one is excited about that option." She lifted and spread her hands, palms up in a gesture he interpreted as a vague sort of helplessness. It appeared that, like the rest of them, she didn't know enough about what the ardat yakshi did to their victims to guess.

She pressed her lips into a thin, grim-looking smile … or was it even a smile? It might have been a grimace. "I still have the asari bounty hunter's comm information. Perhaps after meeting with the council, we can all get together at my apartment and compare notes." She activated her omnitool. "Professor Solus as well. Dr. Michel managed to get him a couple of the dead attackers to study, so he might have some useful intel. We'll need an antidote to the lystheni enzyme if we're fighting them all the time."

The captain nodded. "That's an excellent idea, Shepard." He activated his omnitool and keyed in some notes. "We'll see you in a couple of _orhans_."

She grinned. "I'll be waiting at the end of the docking arm with a krogan and a smile, Captain." She turned her grin toward Garrus and nodded. "Commander."

Something in her expression proved as infectious as a yawn, and he returned it before he caught himself and pulled his mandibles in tight against his mouth. He nodded, sharp and formal. "Until later, SI Shepard."

Arterius stood, closing the channel. When he turned to Garrus, he'd also caught the C-Sec officer's infectious grin. "Finally, a stone laid on the path in front of us rather than being thrown at us from behind."

Garrus frowned and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and one ankle over his knee. The _luxin_ before the captain had started showing a previously unseen side to his personality. Never one to embrace change too quickly or without suspicion, the commander didn't know whether to trust it or fear it. "You like Shepard?" he asked, then cleared his throat. "Trust her, I mean."

The captain folded back into his chair. "I do. She's got a gut full of fire. She's the type who doesn't back down when you push or challenge her, but who pushes back and with a little extra for good measure." A shrug rolled the captain's armour further up his cowl. "I think she's earned both our esteem and our trust."

One brow plate cocked, a slight shift, but the captain's entire manner stiffened. "You don't? If she hadn't risked her life _priluxin_ , we might all be dead. The entire population of the Citadel might well be dead." The brow plate sank back into place, slowly and controlled. "I was joking about you being prejudiced before, but now I'm asking, Vakarian." Arterius leaned forward, forearms resting across his thighs. "Is working with other races going to be an issue?"

The question surprised Garrus … and then, when he looked at it, it didn't. He'd been showing his less than cooperative side ever since Shepard showed up on their comm screen the _luxin_ before. Prejudiced? No. People were people, a truth his parents had raised him to embrace, and while the attack on his home colony shook that belief, it hadn't broken it.

So why his reaction to Shepard? She stung like nettles jammed into the seams between his plates, but her being human wasn't the reason. "It's not that she's human," he replied at last. "There's something about her, personally, that sets my teeth on edge." He shrugged and unfolded, dropping his rigid posture. Even if the captain did like Shepard, neither one of them needed his approval … for anything. It's not like Arterius would ask an undisciplined, untrained human to join the crew, so he'd only ever have to deal with the woman during their time on the Citadel.

The captain nodded. "She's definitely not turian, but that's why I appreciate her perspective." He stood and paced across the comm room before turning back. "The council is worried that turians are too rigid, too bogged down in how things have always been done to adapt and work with the rest of the races."

He held Garrus's stare with a frank one. "Your history of disregarding procedure and the rules is why you're being considered as a Spectre. Don't destroy this opportunity by regressing now." Returning across the room, the captain sat in his chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You might be able to learn something from Shepard. We look down on the council races—their lack of civil service—and call them undisciplined … out for themselves." He shrugged again, then reached up to tug at the collar of his yoke. "But there she is … a civilian in a society where service is voluntary, and she goes out and risks her life above and beyond the call of duty every day."

Garrus stared into the captain's eyes, trying to put words to what irritated him for a moment before he nodded. "She's overly familiar, stands too close, and touches too much." He tilted his head to indicate his visor; he hadn't removed it except to sleep. It really performed some remarkable functions. "However, as inappropriately as she behaves, she means well, and I'm certain that I'll become accustomed to her." He clenched his jaw, two teeth squeaking together. He shuddered from the nerves in his mouth all going insane, but it lent a nice drama to his words. "Given time."

Arterius's head shake carried a sharpened edge. "Go prepare for our meeting with the council. I want to ship out tomorrow morning for Therum, providing the council agrees to our going after the artifact."

Garrus's scowl deepened. "Do you think they'll object?" That thought rankled. Who possessed more right to go after Anderson, to try to figure out what lay behind the attacks on Aephus and the Citadel? Who knew more about it? He shoved himself up out of his chair to pace, his frustration setting all his nerve endings on edge. In his experience, politicians didn't give a crap about right and wrong. Politicians cared about expediency, keeping their secrets, and protecting their power.

After his parents died at the hands of slavers, the politicians had expedited him right into the military, thanks to being nearly fifteen and an orphan. No one asked if he wanted to do anything else … serve in any other capacity. Growing up, he wanted to work in the fire service like his father, but he was an ugly smear on their safe, happy "Prosper in the colonies!" family posters. At least, if he'd died or been taken as a slave, he'd have been invisible.

 _Fire service? Sorry, inconvenient orphan who reminds the empire that we're still vulnerable to terrible events, you're damaged goods. Best you can do for the empire is go out and die avenging your family … the life you could've had._

It took a concentrated effort to fight his way out from under those memories … the old bitterness. "I won't let them shut us out of this," he said, his voice a low growl. "Shepard sent you the information. We can just get ahead of whoever the council assigns. What are they going to do if we beat them to the book? Blow us and their artifact out of the sky?"

"Vakarian!" The edge in Arterius's voice pulled him back. " _Tarc_! Sit down and shut up. You're not fifteen; act like it."

Garrus felt the captain's stare burning through his plates as he stalked back to his seat. Immature as it might be—and as it felt—he sat an extra chair away. Heat flushed beneath his face plates when he glanced up and saw his mentor smile and shake his head. It occurred to him as he sat down that maybe what really bugged him about Shepard was that she possessed true fire, while he indulged in small, petty acts of rebellion born of a sour spirit rather than passion.

After a pause that Garrus knew was meant to give him time to stop snarling inside his head, Arterius let out a quick breath. "I'm nearly certain the council will ask us to continue the investigation by going to Therum. Containing the threat is as much about keeping knowledge of it contained as actually stopping Anderson." He slumped back into his seat but didn't relax. "Imagine if the Citadel discovered that ardat yakshi had been smuggled onto the station and attacked the council chambers, killing one of the council."

Garrus nodded, his malcontent calming. "Panic." Put that way, keeping the investigation and hunt for Anderson contained to those who already knew about it made a keen sort of sense. Maybe that would be the case. Maybe these politicians would do the smart thing. He hoped so.

"Go get ready. Ambassador Sparatus wants to speak to us for a few minutes when we arrive at the council chambers." Arterius pushed up out of his chair and straightened his armour. "Make sure you're ready to answer his questions."

"And C-Sec?" Garrus asked, following his mentor to the door. "Do we still need to interview with them?"

"We'll see. I'm hoping that the reports we sent last night will cover it in concert with SI Shepard's interview." He preceded Garrus out the door. "We'll leave Kryik and Kandros behind this time, minimize exposure. You and I will go with Shepard and her krogan partner. Anderson made his big play _priluxin,_ he doesn't have the strength to try again. If he isn't already off the station, he's concentrating on getting out as quietly as possible."

"Not to mention that Shepard and I blew the computer to _buratrum_." He met the captain's glare with a mandible flick. His amusement went cold as the question returned. What had Anderson been trying to do to the Citadel?

Spirits, they needed to get some traction on the rogue Spectre's plans. He could feel the entire galaxy teetering on the brink of falling straight into the pits. All it would take was the slightest nudge to send them all to _buratrum_.

 **The Citadel** 5381:04:23: **16:10:04**

Garrus stared across the canyon between the supplicant and council platforms from the opposite direction as the day before. He didn't know which view he preferred. Mmm, probably the current one, except for the unknown human standing in Udina's place. The other perspective carried too heavy a weight. Had the krogan and quarian councillors placed it on worthy shoulders?

"Didn't take them long to replace Udina," Shepard muttered from just behind Arterius's right flank, voicing Garrus's thoughts.

"Thank you for coming," the krogan councillor said. "We understand that yesterday was taxing and traumatic for everyone, so we'll keep this short." She focused on the captain. "Captain Arterius, how is your crew recovering?"

Drawing himself even straighter and more rigid than usual, Arterius nodded. "They're recovering well, thank you, Councillor," he replied, using a tone that clearly said, 'they're turian, of course they're fine'. Garrus rumbled low and proud, straightening right along with his captain. They didn't come tougher, prouder, or more built for war than turians. The sooner the council realized that, the sooner a hierarchy representative would stand by their sides.

The female krogan smiled, a knowing twinkle in her eye. "Excellent, we're glad to hear it." The krogan turned slightly, one hand sweeping a graceful arc through the air to indicate the human to her right. "It's our pleasure to introduce you all to Jack Harper, Councillor Udina's replacement."

The human gave them a starched half-bow before lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. "Thank you all for your heroic actions yesterday, but considering the new intelligence that has come to light, we have little time to mourn. We need to look to the future and get out ahead of whatever Anderson and the Temple of the Nightwinds is up to."

Out of the corner of his eye, Garrus saw Shepard stiffen, but then the quarian councillor straightened, drawing their attention.

"Yes." Shala'Raan agreed, taking up the thread of conversation so smoothly that Garrus wondered if the council were all neuro-linked, or if they rehearsed their speeches prior to meetings. "The intel revealed by Justicar-apprentice Urdnot Grunt necessitates immediate action."

The quarian paused, that time Garrus guessed that it was more about dramatic emphasis than listening to her geth. "Captain Arterius, after discussing the Aephus matter with Ambassador Sparatus, we're sending your crew back out into the Traverse. You'll head directly to Therum to secure the document that Apprentice Urdnot discovered, and conduct a thorough investigation of the site."

"What about Anderson?" Arterius demanded, rage simmering through his subvocals. "If he's not already off this station, he will be soon, and he'll be regrouping. We can't allow him to recover and come at us again." He stepped forward, enough menace in his bearing that Garrus almost stepped in to pull the captain back. Instead, his brow plates shot up as Shepard reached out, her last two fingers brushing the back of the captain's hand, the gentle gesture backing Arterius down.

Annoyance flared as his surprise ebbed. What was she thinking touching the captain so intimately? They barely knew one another. And yet, it had backed Arterius down … calmed him.

Sparatus stepped in to take over, because the captain did have a solid point. "The council needs to send its fleet out into the Traverse," the ambassador said, tall and as in control as Arterius had been angry. Despite his healthy mistrust of politicians, Garrus appreciated Sparatus's air of calm command. The _torin_ gave off a palpable aura of 'everything will be all right, I have it under control'. Sparatus let out a soft chuff. "The fleet might not find Anderson, but it could stabilize the region and help prevent attacks on any more turian colonies."

"Any stabilizing effect the fleet might provide would be offset by driving Anderson even deeper underground," Harper said. "We need a deft hand to locate him." He took a long, noisy drag on his cigarette then flicked the ash off the end into a receptacle on his console. "The only truly effective weapon in bringing down a rogue Spectre is another Spectre."

Councillor Urdnot met Garrus's eyes and nodded. "Commander Vakarian, step forward."

Even as Garrus did as she asked, the entire council chamber began to spin in long, uneven orbits. They intended to make him a Spectre? Right then and there? He looked down at the repaired glass ceiling over the garden, and suddenly everything below his feet turned dark, as if he stared down into a bottomless well. He stumbled back a half-step, eyes returning to latch onto the council.

How had he felt when Alenko told him the council was considering him? Spirits, it felt like a lifetime ago, instead of just a week. He'd been surprised and unsure of the responsibility but the distress call from Aephus had prevented him from going into a full blown panic over it. The good old days.

"It is the decision of this council," Councillor Urdnot continued once he stood front and centre, her voice fighting its way past the whirlwind sweeping the inside of Garrus's head clean, "that you be granted all the powers and privileges of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch of the Citadel."

Garrus stared at the four figures, his eyes locking onto the silent form of the geth standing just behind Shala'Raan. The platform's light gleamed blue-white beneath head flaps that shifted and flowed like the muscles beneath the skin of a human or asari's face. Garrus had never spent much time wondering about the geth. What did they think and feel about being half of a symbiotic species?

 _Not the time, Vakarian._

He forced his attention back to the council and the sick rolling in his belly. Was he ready to go it alone? He glanced over, meeting his mentor's eyes and reassuring nod. Well, at least one of them seemed sure.

"Spectres are not trained, but chosen," Harper said, picking up the thread without any hesitation. The three of them had to be neurally linked. "Individuals forged in the fires of service and battle; individuals whose actions elevate them above the rank and file."

The reverent silence of the chambers rang in Garrus's ears, deafening him until he needed to strain to hear the councillors speak. Had he done all that? Had his actions elevated him above anyone? _Tarc_ , they really were making him a Spectre.

Forget all the crap about being chosen rather than trained: he hadn't been trained! He needed to be trained. _Tarc_ , he'd settle for being properly shadowed, which he hadn't been thanks to Alenko's injury. Maybe ... one brow plate climbed toward his fringe ... no, they were definitely accelerating his induction because Alenko wasn't able to pull their backsides out of the fire.

What Arterius had said that morning about containing information in order to avoid panic echoed off the inside of his skull. They were making him the first turian Spectre not because he was ready or deserved it, but because he was already read in on Anderson.

 _Stop panicking, idiot. It's an honour and a privilege, not a death sentence._

He forced himself to listen, to actually be present in the moment rather than rolling around in his insecurities.

Shala'Raan smiled, her manner helping ease back his fear a little. She seemed confident in their choice. "Spectres are an ideal, a symbol. The embodiment of courage, determination, and self-reliance. They are the right hand of the council, instruments of our will."

Glancing sideways, Garrus saw Shepard watching him, her eyes wide, the constant almost-smirk gone from her lips. Instead, a full blown smile of what he thought might be admiration … or something like it … had taken its place. Anyway, she seemed genuinely pleased for him.

Why was that important?

It wasn't.

And yet, it was. He glanced her way again, but her attention had returned to the council, the still-wide-eyed expression taking in the moment from the captain's side with an awe and reverence that he should be showing rather than worrying about a woman he barely knew.

He turned back to the council, watching the newcomer's lips moving. What was he saying about Spectres bearing a great burden and being the galaxy's first and last line of defense?

 _Tarc._ For a second, he almost stepped back, almost shook his head and waved them off. He hadn't even wanted to join the military. He wanted to fight fires, and move to some small colony somewhere where he could save pets from trees and put out the odd grassfire when someone had a cookout during the dry season.

For that second, his feet started to turn, fully intending to carry him out of there, but then a soft, fleeting touch brushed his hand.

He looked toward Shepard, but couldn't see her. She wasn't standing behind the captain any longer. "You've got this," she said, her voice a soft whisper from behind him. "You'll rock being a Spectre."

Garrus gritted his teeth. How the _tarc_ did she know? Empty platitudes from a stranger meant nothing … less than nothing. Still, his feet halted their retreat.

The krogan councillor smiled, showing broad, lavender-shaded teeth, and it was too late to run. "Congratulations, Commander Vakarian, you're the first turian Spectre, a great accomplishment for both you and your entire species."

All three councillors nodded, a sharp bow of their heads and then said, in concert, "Congratulations, Spectre Vakarian."

Garrus just stared at them, his mind suddenly very empty, his heart very still. Only his stomach had anything to say, and its comments just made him afraid to open his mouth.

 _Congratulations, Commander, what do you have to say on this momentous occasion?_

 _Beeeelllllccchhhh_!

Not exactly a headline the hierarchy would applaud. Spirits! Were there cameras? He surreptitiously searched the empty galleries, letting out a breath when he didn't see any.

Arterius stepped up behind him, giving him a tiny shove that told him to soldier up and answer them.

"Thank you, Councillors," Garrus said, nearly choking on the words as they lodged in the desert sand that filled his throat. "I'm honoured by your faith in me and my abilities, and I'll do my best to live up to that faith."

Shala'Raan filled the silence after a couple of breaths. "Spectre Vakarian, your mission is of the highest priority. Apprend Spectre David Anderson. While we'd prefer he was able to appear before this council to account for his actions and face interrogation so we can discern the depth of his plans and network of allies, you are sanctioned to use whatever means you must to unearth his plans and put an end to them."

"Captain Arterius, Spectre Vakarian, good luck on your missions," Harper said. He stubbed out his cigarette and stepped away from his console, leading the rest of his peers from the platform.

Reality exited the stage on the council's heels, even as Sparatus and Arterius clapped Garrus on the shoulder and congratulated him. Even while he murmured thanks and something about doing his best to reflect favourably on the hierarchy and his race as a whole, he found himself staring at the human. Fascinated by the way her blue and black C-Sec armour seemed to absorb all the light around her, he couldn't seem to yank his attention away.

First turian Spectre. What did that even mean? His life experience amounted to going from being a colony orphan to a soldier. What did he know about council law or justice?

How was he supposed to run an investigation? In the hierarchy, everyone had their place. His had not prepared him for Spectre-hood. Leading young soldiers into battle, teaching them to be the line between civilians and the darkness, that was his job. Not going out into the darkness alone as a one _torin_ judge and jury.

Shepard stepped up and offered her hand. He'd been staring at her without seeing her long enough that it startled him when she appeared within his space, her bare hand held out. He hesitated despite knowing that she didn't understand the significance of the gesture.

"Congratulations, Commander Vakarian," the senior investigator said, her voice solemn, missing the usual wiseass undertones. "I know that I speak for tall, handsome, and silent over there," she said, glancing back at her krogan partner, "when I say that if there's anything we can do to help with your investigation, we're there for you."

He gripped her wrist, giving it a single, brusk shake before releasing her. "I appreciate that, SI Shepard. We can use all the help we can get." And he could use help with the investigation. The captain was right about the C-Sec officer possessing excellent investigative skills and instincts.

"Glad to hear that, Vakarian," Arterius said, clapping Garrus on the back. "Because I was just about to offer SI Shepard a spot on the _Normandy_ for the trip to Therum.

Garrus just stared, jaw and mandibles slack, as the captain slapped his shoulder again, then stepped up, herding Shepard along with him.

Shepard? On the _Normandy_?

 _Tarc._

(A-N: For Lynn! A hug from the guys.

Thanks as always, to you silent readers, and to those who leave reviews. I appreciate all the support, I truly do. *hugs for those who want them.)


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Twelve: The Scent of Forest after a Rain**

 **Gikgah** \- Ancient, ziggurat-like temple structures.

 **Cisera** \- A non-alcoholic, foamy cider made from the juice of more than twenty varieties of edible cactus analogues.

 **Puala fruit & nectar** \- Puala are a large, guava-esque, bright yellow fruit with a rubbery peel and a core of soft, edible seeds. It's meat is slightly fibrous, like a peach but with longer fibers. Taste is tart with an almost flowery nature. **Puala nectar** has a thick, pulpy texture. Both the fruit and its juice smell repugnant to humans.

 **The Citadel** 5381:04:23: **17:02:24 (Right after Garrus is made Spectre)**

The grin that spread across Shepard's face at Captain Arterius's backhanded offer of a place on the _Normandy_ felt goofily huge and stupid ... and it died the second she saw the newest Spectre's disapproving scowl. Okay, message received, give Vakarian space. She looked away, unsure of what she'd done to earn the commander's … distaste? Maybe giving him the visor broke some taboo? She just thought … well, she'd go bonkers without her neural frame, so …. Gah, she was an idiot. There was nothing wrong with just minding her own business once in a while.

Despite working with Ridgefield for years, she hadn't really learned all that much about turian customs. In C-Sec, especially, a unique, communal culture had developed that had its own life and its own mores. However, shipping out on a turian vessel—probably the only human aboard—she needed to do some research. The invitation wouldn't last long if she made a habit of offending the crew the way she seemed to offend Vakarian.

Frulk bumped her with his hip, knocking her out of her brooding. His hand skated down the inside of her arm, a subtle intimacy that eased the churning in her belly. "The turian captain wants you," he said, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

Shepard scoffed, an instant heat leaping up her neck to set her cheeks aflame. Glancing around, she checked to make sure no one else had heard. "You're crazy," she replied in a whisper that hissed between clenched teeth. She slowed down, hanging back to buy them a cone of silence. "We're just meeting to go over Anderson's history. Maybe a little planning." Uncomfortable, she pulled her shoulders in, curling in on herself as she crossed her arms. Had she been too open broadcasting her interest? "He's just eager to get the bastard."

The krogan shrugged. "All right, but if you don't show up after that meeting with a huge grin on your face, I'll be surprised."

She elbowed him but gently. He'd piqued her curiosity, and of course, he'd scent her arousal. Damn those pheromone receptors. "How do you know? Let me guess ... that wonder nose of yours?"

He nodded and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Arterius reeks of it. He wants to tie you to something and devour you whole."

"The fact you can do that is so gross," she said and clapped a hand over his face. "Stop breathing." Shepard shuddered as Frulk chuckled, but not entirely from the awkward strangeness of her best friend being able to smell someone else lusting after her. If it was true …. Tied to something and devoured by Saren Arterius … she could think of a lot of worse ways to spend an afternoon, and not many better. Sly and hungry, a grin tugged at the corner of her lips.

Clearing her throat, she released him and struck out after the rest of the group. "I'm intensely grateful humans can't smell everyone's horny musk. I wouldn't be able to have sex with anyone after that." She cocked an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes. "What does it smell like? Please tell me it doesn't smell like the brothel peep show booths after a cleaner's strike." Watching the way he grinned, she saw regret stepping up to audition for the part of her next emotion.

Frulk laughed, but then tilted his head, a thoughtful scowl folding up his face a little. "I don't know. It smells like … itself." He muttered a little under his breath. "Captain Arterius smells a little like a deep, loamy forest after it rains."

Shepard grinned, her brows peaking. "Oh, that's not so bad." The expression fell into suspicion. "How do you know he doesn't just want to take a nice, long hike in the woods?"

A playful shrug rolled his shoulders. "You're right. A walk in the woods. That's it."

Another elbow dug into his side, not so gently that time. "You're crazy. Turians don't want to have sex with humans. I think you're forgetting the whole 'just barely getting along after the First Contact War' thing?"

"Well, the captain wants to get together for some peace talks then." Rolling laughter lifted above their confessional whisper to echo around the silent chambers. "The other one, Vakarian … he doesn't know what he wants."

Several metres ahead, the elevator door opened, light spilling through the doors and across the sombre tiles. Arterius stopped at the threshold and spun back to face them, taloned feet arching to press against the floor as he pivoted. Mouth quirking a little in appreciation for the captain's sheer, coiled physicality, Shepard felt herself blushing. For Pete's sake, being a woman who enjoyed filling her plate at the sex buffet as often and as greedily as she did, what the hell was with the virginal blushes?

Arterius remained with a foot on either side of the threshold when Vakarian stepped into the elevator. "SIs Shepard and Urdnot?" His mandibles lifted and gave a quick flick when he met Shepard's appreciative stare.

 _Oh, crap. He won't know I was ogling, right? Ogling the captain, is a no-no on every ship, everywhere._

 _But damn, look at the arch of that neck. He knows he's all sorts of sexy._

"Coming, Captain." Shepard gulped down a handful of tacks, steeled herself against her embarrassment and jogged the last few metres. "Sorry about that, sir."

The elevator ride down passed in silence. Arterius tapped away at his omnitool: orders relayed to the _Normandy_ from what Shepard gathered during her sneak glimpses. A crooked smile bullied its way past her embarrassment. Shipping out with the _Normandy_? It might just be her chance to escape the Citadel and the cage. She leaned back against the wall and folded her arms across her chest, the familiar music of scraping ceramic accompanying the movement.

She didn't really know what the fucking cage looked like, and she didn't even really know what caused it, but she felt it out there. It loomed over her in the constant weight of knowing stares and whispers. It might not even be everyone else, because she maintained a stellar arrest and conviction record, and people seemed to like her. It might just be the small, aching tightness of living in an environment of endless walls. It might be the constant pressure of her father's expectations, or having grown up on and never having left the Citadel.

"SI Shepard?"

She looked up at Vakarian, meeting the eyes watching her from outside the elevator, then chuckled. "What? I was busy planning my conquest of the known galaxy." She stepped out and led the way to the shuttle. "That takes considerable concentration."

"Just the known galaxy?" Vakarian asked. "No plans for unchecked expansion or annexing neighbouring galaxies?"

"It'll do for now." Shepard slipped into the pilot seat, hands automatically beginning flight procedures. "I'm a woman of modest desires, Commander. We'll see what happens when the power goes to my head."

Arterius sat in the copilot seat, flipping switches to prep the secondary systems as she started the core and thrusters. "I booked an hour for us at the Armax," he said, cutting a sharp glance across the cockpit. "Run through a little combat simulation?"

"Absolutely, Captain," Shepard said, never one to turn down gun play against targets that didn't bleed. Cocking an eyebrow, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and slanted her tone toward teasing. "I didn't impress in the fight against Anderson?"

He chuckled, the low, smoky sound of it crawling straight into her belly and wrapping around parts best kept calm and under control, especially in confined spaces. "Oh, you impressed, but the hierarchy will want a record of your skills for your dossier." His voice lowered, its flanged subvocals growing deeper and thicker. "Once the _Normandy_ is underway, and Dr. Chellick has had a chance to look you over, I'll run you through the rest of your eval."

She swallowed hard, and cleared her throat, trying to ignore the chuckle from the back. Frulk was so dead when no one was looking.

They stopped by Chloe Michel's clinic to pick up Mordin, the salarian rattling away about his latest findings as Frulk and Vakarian escorted him to the shuttle, then continuing on for the rest of the trip to her apartment. Between the speed and jargon, she understood about every tenth word.

"Please don't leave me here alone with the salarian," Frulk whispered, taking her aside when they climbed out of the shuttle. He gripped her shoulders in tight, frantic fingers. "Please, Shepard. A murder will look very bad in my file."

Shepard led him toward the door. "You'll be fine, and I really need you here, using that big ol' brain and running down leads for me." When he sighed, she slipped her arm through his, holding him back. She faced him, part of her sorry that he wasn't coming along on the _Normandy_ , but a larger, much guiltier part glad to be leaving him behind. As much as she loved him and treasured their friendship … it and the weight of his parent's expectations formed a big part of the cage.

Glancing back to where the others waited for her at the apartment building entrance, she sighed. "We're a team, Frulk, and with everything we don't know about what's going on … I need to be in two places at once." She met his gaze and smiled. "You need to be the other half of the investigation. After we've brought down Anderson, you and I'll finally buy that yacht and take off, see whatever." She winked and reached up to press a hand against his chest. "Our reward for saving the galaxy."

He let out a throaty chuff and turned to follow the others. "As long as we don't go to Tuchanka."

Shepard laughed, relieved that the discussion seemed to be over. "No way, that's one of my number one destinations. I want to see the grand _gikgah_ of Niraxak and the canals of Kalros." She stopped a few metres from the door, pivoting to face him, one hand grabbing his arm. "Oh, and the botanical gardens of blood, where all the plants try to eat you." She grinned, excitement overwhelming the guilt, leaving her feeling a little giddy.

Samara sat at the dining room table, two piles of pizza stacked in front of her. The bounty hunter turned to face them, but didn't stand. "I took the liberty of accepting the food when it arrived, Shepard."

"Brilliant." Shepard stepped through the door and held out an arm. "Come in and make yourself at home. I ordered both levo and dextro. I hope the varieties I got are okay. There should be _puala nectar_ and _cisera_ here too."

Captain Arterius clapped a hand down on her shoulder, his talons heavy. "I'm sure it will be excellent, thank you, Shepard." His brow plates lowered, his mandibles flicking with good humour as he looked down at the stack of pizza boxes. "I'm not sure you ordered enough for the two of us, however."

Heat flared under the collar of her armour as Shepard shrugged. "I figured with everything the _Normandy_ crew has been through, they could use something other than MREs. You can just take the rest back to the ship." She shot a glance over at Vakarian to find him staring at her, that same bemused-bordering-on-pissed-off look on his face. "Or we can donate it to a dextro shelter if that's against regs," she added quickly.

"Don't mind Vakarian," Arterius said, turning to face her, his voice lowering to remain between the two of them. "He's been in the military so long that he's forgotten that civilian life exists." His hand slipped behind her to press between her shoulder blades for a moment before he brushed past, offering his hand to Mordin.

Shepard watched after him, heart thumping so hard she went weak at the knees and it felt like someone had crept up on her and unceremoniously shoved a vibrator straight up inside her until it lodged in—she took a deep breath and wriggled a little—her liver. Oh, dear and fluffy lord, she was so, so very screwed.

"Dr. Solus?" Arterius nodded at the salarian's affirmative. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for the research. I've just had a chance to skim it, but it's thoroughness makes me glad to have you on board."

"A pleasure, Captain," Mordin replied, then turned to the table, his belly letting out a rough grumble. "Haven't eaten, too excited to get to work on autopsies. So much to learn about lystheni advances." Shepard grinned as he leaned down to look at the boxes. "Oh! Raspira sprout, bilehaik pods, and shelled oolagohtay." He gave Shepard a wide grin. "Excellent choice."

"Glad you approve, Doc." She winced, her stomach doing an awkward somersault as he opened the box and pulled out a chunk of slimy hell complete with some sort of kelp pod. "Why don't you take a seat at the far end of the table? The seat of honour."

When he'd taken the pizza to where it greatly decreased her odds of throwing up, Shepard held out a hand toward Samara. "Everyone, this is Samara. She was invaluable in my investigation and during the attack on the council chamber." She pivoted and began backing toward her bedroom. "Everyone grab some food, and introduce yourselves." She pointed to Frulk. "The big guy is SI Urdnot Frulk, my fearless first partner. We were rookies together, so he knows my life pretty much better than I do and can help you find anything while I take off this armour."

Vakarian stepped around the others. "We're not tactically secure here. You should remain in armour."

"On your ship, you live in your armour?" she asked, slanting it toward a statement rather than a question. When Vakarian nodded, she mirrored it. "Very well, then once I'm on board, I'll gladly bear the chafing and blisters, but in my apartment, Spectre Vakarian, I'm the commanding officer, and can wear whatever the hell I like." She winced at the last, but her 'taking crap and dirty looks from the turian Spectre' metre had hit the red zone. "If we're attacked by lystheni and ardat yakshi and I die riddled with holes, I'll concede that I should have worn armour. That work for you?"

"SI Shepard," Arterius said, his voice pointed as he stepped between them, "thank you for welcoming us into your home. Please, go ahead if you're more comfortable without your armour." One of his hands sliced the air when Vakarian took a breath, cutting the Spectre off before he could speak.

More uncomfortable than she would be staying in the damned armour, Shepard remained in place, pinned between the equally strong wills of the captain and the Spectre. Technically, she would be under Arterius's command, and coupling that with her natural tendency to buck authority, Vakarian really didn't stand a chance.

What she really wanted to do was kick them both in the ass for trapping her between them. Her apartment! What part of 'I don't need permission from either of you' were they missing?

"Shepard," Arterius said, closing the two steps, "you'll be logged aboard the _Normandy_ as a consultant. That means that while on missions, you'll take orders from whoever is commanding your squad on the ground. On board, I'm your final word for now." He tipped his head toward her door then turned back to face Vakarian. "And your attire when not on missions is at your discretion."

Judging by the expression on the new Spectre's face, he and Arterius would be having a serious discussion about how Vakarian fit into the _Normandy_ since he'd been all but removed from the ship's command structure. She hesitated for another moment, biting the inside of her lip to keep from telling them both where to go. After that moment passed, she unclenched her hands. Since Arterius could keep her off his ship, she probably should just put up and shut up.

"Understood, Captain." She turned on her heel and marched into her room.

Five minutes later, she joined them at the table, dressed in her C-Sec BDU's, making sure to get a chair as far from Mordin's pizza as possible. "So, Samara, do you mind filling us in on the ardat yakshi religion?"

The bounty hunter wiped her mouth on a napkin and washed her mouthful of pizza down with soda. "The ardat yakshi are the product of a recessive gene, and thus are only created through pureblood asari matings. They are born with the ability to dominate other people's wills, the talent manifesting early, before their nature is known." She took another huge bite of pizza, reminding Shepard very much of a ravenous varren. The _nais_ must have seen Shepard's incredulity because she shrugged and gulped down the bite. "Apologies, I haven't eaten in almost a day."

Shepard waved her concern away, flushing a little. She hadn't meant to embarrass Samara. "Don't worry about it, at all. You must be hungry. Biotics use a lot of energy, right?"

"They do." She took another drink. "When ardat yakshi are diagnosed at maturity, they are given a choice to either enter a monastery with others of their kind where they are supervised and guided, or they are executed under the conditions of the Nightwind Treaty. The internment of the ardat yakshi at the end of the rebellion was a long and bloody disaster. They refused to go quietly, dominating the soldiers sent to bring them in, forcing confrontations. It took nearly a century to enforce the treaty."

Shepard winced, she'd seen records of some of those attempts to take rogue AY's into custody, each turning into a bloodbath that almost always resulted in the AYs being killed. "Eventually, it just became standard practice to kill any ardat yakshi who wouldn't surrender, didn't it?"

Samara nodded, looking nauseated. She set down the remainder of her pizza slice. "Yes, hunting them down was the reason for the creation of the Justicar Order. The offspring of the strongest krogan battlemasters, preferably biotics themselves, were trained from pups to do nothing but track and put down ardat yakshi."

Despite always knowing what Frulk's father did, Shepard had never really spent much time considering the reality behind his heroic stories of wicked fights and horrendous odds. She looked across the table at Frulk, suddenly wanting to wrap her fingers around his. The things his father had to do, the terrible cost of the bounties he turned in, both physically and mentally … sweet dear and fluffy lord … it was horrendous.

"Many who chose to go into seclusion, did so as a means of preserving the ardat yakshi doctrine, of taking the movement underground. Within those sanctuaries, they spread their beliefs and indoctrinate the young," Samara continued, pulling Shepard out of her thoughts but leaving her with a resolve to really speak to Wrex about what he did for the council. The asari drew Shepard's stare when she let out a long sigh. "Many still believe that because the ardat yakshi grow in strength, guile, and power with each kill, they are the pinnacle of asari evolution. For that reason, they refuse any standard genetic or tech modification."

"Which is likely why Anderson sought them out, or vice versa. Are ardat yakshi not sterile?" Captain Arterius asked, his brow plates low and canted above his nose. For a moment, their eyes met and Shepard didn't need Frulk's pheromone receptors to read the captain's concern or desire. She glanced away, embarrassed and uncertain of how she felt about his open regard and the implications of not being slotted into the _Normandy's_ command structure.

"They are," Samara confirmed. "But, of course as with all such entities, the cult has twisted the truth and claims their sterility proves they are the apex of our evolution. They do not need to breed, rising like queens to rule over the base members of the species."

"How do you know so much about this cult?" Vakarian asked. He set his pizza down and leaned, arms crossed against the edge of the table. His laser stare sliced back and forth between Samara and Shepard, as if he suspected Samara because it was Shepard who introduced her. "You shouted out two names in the council chambers, and Shepard says that you identified this … ahhh … " He rubbed the heel of his hand along his mandible. "... Shiala, in Chora's Den."

"Rila and Falere," Samara replied, her voice flat and pitched almost too low to hear. "They were my daughters, and I killed them both yesterday." She sipped at her bottle, lips rigid, brow drawn tight enough that her scars contorted her entire face. After buying herself some time and composure, she let out a breath that told Shepard how much of a premium her calm exacted.

"I bonded with another asari. We'd fallen in love as maidens and dreamed of nothing more than settling down and starting a family." A restless fingernail picked at the table top, scrubbing at some speck of filth that Shepard knew existed only in her mind. The bounty hunter's eyes remained riveted on the pizza boxes, but again, Shepard knew she saw something else all together.

"My daughters were all diagnosed as they reached forty cycles," she said, her voice thick and ragged as she continued. "My eldest refused to be imprisoned for a crime imposed upon her by birth. She killed her father on the way to the monastery and vanished." The hand scratching at the table top latched onto the bottle of soda, her grip so tight the glass rattled against the polished wood. "My other daughters were much younger, just thirty and twenty-five when Mirala killed their father. They surrendered willingly when diagnosed."

She tipped the bottle back, guzzling as if it contained something a lot stronger. She slammed it down on the table top so hard that the arc of a dent shone bright against the mahogany. "I sent a friend with them, someone they grew up with and loved as a sister. I thought it would ease their isolation."

"Shiala." The name slipped out of Shepard's lips, and she flushed, embarrassed to have spoken. "Sorry," she whispered, a hand sliding closer to Samara's.

The bounty hunter snatched the hand back, guarding it in her lap. She shot Shepard a thin-lipped grimace that appeared to be appreciation. "Yes, Shiala. I trusted her to guard my daughters from the exact poison she helped seat inside their minds." Her eyes looked up, a stare of iron spikes riveted to Frulk. "And since I received word that Justicar Urdnot just executed Mirala, all my daughters are dead."

Wrex's last honour-bounty. Oh for fuck's sake. Shepard dropped her head into her hands, her elbows clunking against the table. She scrubbed a hand over her head, her hair long enough to catch her on her fingers with a painful tug. Latching onto the pain, she used it … and reminded herself to get her head shaved on the way to Armax.

"So, other than racing to Therum and hoping for the best … " She looked up, meeting each set of eyes around the table. Her stomach felt like a block of ice and lead in her belly. "... what the hell do we do?" Turning to Arterius, she met his stare with hope. Surely, the seasoned veteran of the First Contact war would have some spark of genius to offer.

"I know Anderson," the captain said. "Dr. Solus knows the lystheni, and Samara knows the ardat yakshi. SI Shepard and Vakarian have the clearances we need to get in anywhere."

Frulk cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the rest of the table. "My father is Urdnot Wrex. He's one of the first justicars trained since birth, following in the footsteps of his father, Urdnot Jarrod."

The table hushed at the name. Shepard wished she'd sat closer to Frulk. His stare cut to her, then to his hands and back. Wrex rarely spoke of his father, and Frulk never brought up his grandfather. At the end of the Nightwind Rebellion, when the AYs refused to abide by the treaty, Jarrod and his team had slaughtered every asari that crossed their paths, AY or not.

"When Jarrod insisted on using the genophage to continue the war until every asari had been killed, my father put him down." He needn't have said it, everyone knew the story, but Shepard knew that Frulk felt the embarrassment of the family history like shrapnel lodged next to his spine. It was the reason he'd joined C-Sec instead of following his father's footsteps.

"It's your father's apprentice who is waiting for us on Therum?" Vakarian asked. When Frulk nodded, the Spectre looked to Arterius. "Might be worth seeing if he'll sign on as a consultant as well."

"We need to figure out what Anderson's game plan is first and foremost," Arterius said. "To do that, I think we need to go back twenty or so cycles."

His brilliant blue eyes latched onto Shepard as she asked, "How do you and Anderson know one another, Captain?"

Arterius cleared his throat. "Most of the story I'll relate to you in a less public venue, but suffice it to say that several cycles ago, I was under consideration to become a Spectre. Anderson was my shadow."

Shepard's heart began racing despite not knowing the story's destination. She'd never even heard of a turian being considered before Vakarian. Stifling a grin, she glanced sidelong and saw that he'd been caught by surprise as well.

"Anderson and I were assigned to look into a factory with some shady tech connections." The captain clasped his fingers and placed his hands on the table, the preciseness of the movement betraying his state of mind. "The council believed the corporation was developing tech outside the council's directives and sent us in to make sure they weren't." The plates of his face settled into a carefully neutral expression that Shepard had seen countless times across an interrogation room. It kicked her heart rate up another three notches. Something terrible happened during that mission, something that haunted Arterius to that day.

Quite suddenly, a _torin_ sat across from her rather than a captain or even a Spectre candidate, and she met his gaze with warmth when his eyes turned back to her.

"Anderson said we should split up and headed off on his own. The next thing I knew, the entire complex came down on my head. Fires and toxic smoke clouds killed most of the workers and their families. I escaped with my life and a few survivors." He leaned further into the table, and ducked his head, staring at his hands. "Anderson blamed it on me, made sure my Spectre candidacy was shot down."

Shepard let the silence settle for a few seconds before she cleared her throat. "We seem to have a couple of vague avenues to follow. I'll check in with Barla Von on the way to the Armax." She chuckled and ducked her head, a shot of bashful colouring her neck. "I need to get my hair cut anyway."

Arterius looked to Frulk. "Would you speak with your father? See if there is anything he knows that can help us. He's out there dealing with this every day, maybe he's heard something about Anderson and his connection to the ardat yakshi but doesn't realize it."

The krogan stared at the table long enough that Shepard, again, knew his thoughts. He'd worked so hard to avoid that world, and then that world had just ridden into town and plunked itself down at his bar. He nodded, looking to Shepard when he lifted his stare from the table, but his gaze was shuttered, completely closed off. "I'll see what he can tell us while I keep an eye on Dr. Solus."

Shepard resolved to set aside some time for Frulk before she shipped out and to keep in touch once she did. Something lurked behind his avoidance, and she knew it ran deeper than just his grandfather's sins. Pushing her worry aside, she swallowed the lump swelling in her throat and turned her attention to Mordin. Addressing Frulk's personal issues would have to wait.

The aforementioned salarian threw up his hands, palms out, when they all looked at him. "No results yet. Will continue autopsies, catalog results. Will forward them when finished." He picked a slimy little pod off his pizza and popped it in his mouth. "Dr. Michel and I still working on blocking agent for lystheni enzyme. Will see results soon. No problem so great as to be unsolvable."

Shepard grinned the salarian's cocky confidence just the elixir that she needed to set the steel in her bones and steady her heart. Raising an eyebrow to the captain and Spectre, she said, "Well then gentlemen, on that note … what are we waiting for?"

* * *

(A-N: I was on my way to a 12K chapter and had to cut myself off, so next chapter will be back to Shepard. Hopefully this answered a few questions about AYs and Justicars … and then sorta posed a few more. :D And hopefully Shepard will get a chance to really talk to her best friend. I get the feeling there is something 'there' there. :D Thanks so much for all your amazing feedback. It keeps me writing, it gives me ideas all over the place … and it fills the characters with love. Frulk sends hugs to all his fans. He loves yah! :D)


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Thirteen: The Moth to the Flame**

 **Patrem:** Father **Pari:** Familiar form. Dad.

 **Matrem:** Mother **Mari:** Familiar form. Mom

 **Fratin:** Brother

 **The Citadel** 5381:04:23: **19:02:24 (Post Garrus wolfing down five slices of pizza)**

Shepard watched, a tiny smile twitching at the corner of her mouth, as Captain Arterius placed the stack of pizza boxes in Vakarian's arms. "You can take these back to the _Normandy_ with you." He slapped the Spectre's shoulder, a companionable gesture that seemed to settle the earlier tension. "You'll stay on as XO?" he asked, lowering his voice. He tilted his head a little, clearly hoping Vakarian would agree. "We can discuss the details once I'm back on board."

The Spectre nodded, but his eyes sliced toward Shepard, leaving her little doubt that she'd prove to be a bone of contention. She made a mental note to stop at Delan's and buy a set of light armour after she talked to Von. Surely she could find something comfortable enough to live in. Wincing, she did the mental math, her 'saving up for a ship' account set to take another big hit.

Frulk pushed away from the table. His chair's metal legs scraped across the tile, dragging her attention from the turians. She strode over and grabbed his hand, leading him away from the others. Angling to block listening ears, she whispered, "Make some time for me in a couple of hours?"

She looked into his eyes, a tiny frown pinching the skin between her brows when she noticed that they'd started to change colour. Flecks of his father's crimson and his mother's gold asserted themselves amidst the—quite literal—baby blue. With krogan, mental and emotional maturity played a huge role in their physical maturity, and her poor Frulk had taken more hits than her freedom money since Anderson came down with his delusions of grandeur.

She reached up to caress his cheek, pressing her lips tight in a smile that did nothing to squash the sick ache in her chest. "I want us to spend tonight together, okay? I'll get up early to get to the docking bays."

He nodded and leaned into her hand. "I'll take Mordin back to Dr. Michel's, then drop Vakarian off at the _Normandy_ before checking in at work."

"Okay. I'll get my shopping done and stop by to see if Barla Von has anything more to offer on my way over to the Armax. I'll call you when we're finished up there." She took both of his hands and squeezed them. "Thank you, Frulk." Holding his gaze, she tried to lace hers with the depth of how much she loved and appreciated him. "For everything."

He nodded and leaned in to brush her lips with his mouth. "I'll see you later." Pulling his hands free, he turned away. "Doc? Spectre? The bus is leaving." He stopped to look at Samara. "You coming with us?"

Samara shook her head. "I have things to attend to." She shuffled the pizza boxes around, sorting them. "I—my daughters … I—"

The turian captain interrupted her, drawing the asari's attention when he stepped around Vakarian to sit next to her. "I understand the importance of taking care of your daughters." Something flashed across the captain's face that made the ache in Shepard's chest pulse a couple of times. "We need to find out why they ended up in that council chamber. Would you be willing to accompany us to Therum? From the look of the text Urdnot Grunt found, we could use some asari knowledge and assistance."

Samara shook her head, retreating. For all her badass, bounty hunter bravado, Shepard knew the _nais_ … the mother wallowed in a mire of grief and guilt. Time and knowledge couldn't do anything to ease all the emotions that had to be simmering beneath that calm, blue exterior.

Shepard moved closer to the asari, loving the captain's idea of Samara joining them on the _Normandy_. Despite her initial misgivings, something about the asari bounty hunter settled her nerves and gave her confidence. Between Samara and Arterius, there wasn't much out there the two of them hadn't seen.

Retaking her seat next to Samara's right hand, Shepard shrugged. "I could sure use your instincts and knowledge in sorting through all this." Through her stare, she tried to impart everything else she needed, support being chief amongst those.

The bounty hunter looked away to the other members of the party. When Samara's gaze met hers, Shepard nodded and raised her eyebrows, practically begging the asari to agree. Samara returned the nod, the gesture almost imperceptible. "I'd be glad to be of assistance in any way I can, Captain," she replied without looking away from Shepard for long seconds. When she finally turned back to the captain, she stood. "What time do you wish me to report to your ship?"

"I'll book priority docking and relay clearances for 0500 Citadel time,so you have about fifteen hours to settle up any business before you need to report to the docking bay. I'll send you all the information and clearances you'll need," Arterius said. He extended his hand to clasp wrists. "Welcome aboard, Samara. I'm glad to have someone of your knowledge and experience along for the ride."

Samara nodded, slipping a sideways glance at the open pizza box. Shepard grinned and closed the lid before passing it over. "By all means. Thank you for everything, Samara. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Shepard walked everyone to the door, hesitating when Captain Arterius didn't follow them. She met his stare, her stomach flipping somersaults and pulling belly flops when he simply started gathering together the remaining pizza boxes. After watching him for a second, she closed the door and returned to the table.

"I take it we're headed straight to the arena from here, sir?" she asked, loading her arms with leftover soda.

"That and I wanted to talk to you alone for a few minutes." Balancing the boxes in one hand, Arterius opened the fridge and slipped them onto one of the empty shelves. "You live a remarkably spur of the moment life, Shepard."

She carried the soda to the refrigerator, muttering a thank you when the captain held the door open. "My life is my work," she said as she bent to unload the bottles onto the bottom shelf. When she inhaled and gagged on the the stale, out-of-date milk stink, she made a mental note to grab some baking soda. Truly, her life made her look like a complete loser. "I grab food on my way to and from the precinct and crime scenes." Straightening, she looked him in the eye and shrugged. "Never had anyone around to feed."

He nodded and pushed the door shut, stepping into her, close enough that she backed into the counter, the lip digging into her spine. "And if you did? You strike me as someone who takes care of others but not in the domestic sense."

Indignation flared, burning the back of Shepard's throat for about two seconds before it cooled. He was right. Frulk looked after her. So, instead of snapping at the captain, she nodded and gave him a crooked smile. "Yeah, that's about right, but …." She clamped her mouth shut on the confession that tried to sneak past her high security privacy barriers, her neck and nose heating.

Arterius closed another step, standing no more than a finger's width away, his stare so intense that her belly started flip-flopping again, her breath catching in her lungs until they blew up too big for her ribs. Jeesus pleesus, he smelled so damned good: a mixture of herbs, spices, and gun oil … the scent warm and heady as it burrowed down inside her, making her tingle in all the right places.

 _No … in all the wrong places. He's your captain._

"But what?" he asked. Despite his voice coming out in a low, rumbling whisper, she knew the question posed a demand rather than a casual inquiry. "Tell me, don't burrow down behind safe barriers. That's not you any more than domesticity is."

"Respectfully, sir, you don't know me." Indignation exploded, water poured onto molten lead.

Arterius just nodded, his intensity unwavering. "But I want to. So, finish the sentence."

Shepard swallowed the urge to push him back and tell him to mind his own damned business … the _Normandy_ beckoning, insisting she just do as she was told. Taking a long breath, she said, "Sometimes I wish I was. My mother was brilliant at all that domestic stuff … very nurturing."

He nodded and turned toward the table, the absence of the pressure both a relief and a disappointment: her front suddenly cold. He gathered up the empty bottles and strode to dump them in the recycler. "There's more to nurturing than cooking meals and folding laundry. I've watched you with your partner and just now, with Samara. You've got a caring heart."

Nodding, she gathered up the napkins and other detritus. "I know, but … " She shrugged. "... I guess I just haven't felt as safe or protected since she died." Even as the words tumbled out, she winced, her heart dropping into her boots, landing with a sickening splat … raw meat falling onto the floor. Fuck, she'd gone straight to the pathetic place.

"I'd better get moving," she blurted out, dumping the garbage into the receptacle. "I've got things to do on my way over to Armax." She spun, coming nose to chest with Arterius's armour. "Oh, sorry, sir," she said, embarrassment spilling the words out in an awkward tumble.

"Nothing to be sorry for." Arterius shook his head, not backing off a single millimetre. "It made you angry when Vakarian told you to remain in armour," he said, stepping in a touch closer. Shepard backed away, but ran into the counter. When she tried to slip past him, he placed a gentle but insistent hand on her upper arm, holding her there.

She led his gaze on a merry chase for several seconds before she allowed his eyes to catch and hold hers. Damn, but weren't his eyes the exact blue of the sky over the Pacific Ocean just before sunset? Steeling herself, she stared straight back. If he intended to test her, she'd rather be damned for being herself than for playing coy. She'd never done coy or bashful particularly well.

"It did." She lifted her chin and clenched her jaw, locking down the rest of her reaction. Part of her wanted to spin and bury an elbow in his side, and for a second she weighed the consequences of doing just that. Fortunately for Arterius, the larger part of her hoped that his testing amounted to something personal … that Frulk's nose and her instincts knew their stuff.

"And my stepping in?" he asked. She swore she heard a rough sort of teasing in his voice. It sparked both an urge to lash out and the exact opposite. He squeezed her arm a little when she didn't answer right away. "Did my stepping in anger you?"

She kept holding his stare, meeting his invasiveness with sparks that warned him that if he pushed much harder, she'd burn him. "Yes. Not as much as Vakarian, but I don't recognize anyone's right to give me orders in my home." She pressed back against his hand. "Respectfully, Captain, what are you playing at? Is this part of the Arterius hazing ritual for new crew members?"

"I don't play, SI Shepard, and I don't haze new crew members or get personal with them as a rule. This is uncertain, new ground for me and entirely personal." He released her arm, the pressure in his stare also backing off. "As long as we're on personal time, the name is Saren." The pressure backed off a little. "Were you tempted to defy me and keep it on despite wanting to remove it in the first place?"

Surprised, almost to the point of being speechless, Shepard pushed back, taking up all the space he surrendered. Good lord, he was interested. Someone flipped the switch on her internal blender, setting it to puree. Muttering a soft curse—she had to chuckle at her sheer level of bullheadedness when her instincts insisted she tell him to mind his business—she nodded. The _Normandy_ still beckoned, so she answered, "Yeah, I was."

"But you didn't. Why?" The smoke in his voice thickened, the subvocals heading straight to her groin, all the muscles in her pelvis pulsing in a slow, aching wave. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Because I want to ship out with the _Normandy_ ," she replied, keeping it simple and honest to hide her sudden breathlessness. She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, knowing that turians picked up pheromones almost as readily as krogan. Getting all slick between the thighs and embarrassing herself didn't have a place on her to-do list. Neither did stripping down and wrapping those thighs around her captain: someone she wanted to regard her with at least a little respect and esteem. When she opened her eyes again, she focused on the keel of his armour. She needed to distract herself before she did or said something stupid.

 _Kitten videos. I need to watch more kitten videos. Nothing distracts like an adorable kitty doing something silly. Damn it, why can't I remember a single kitten video? Okay, sports. I wonder who won last night's biotiball game? No, I hate sports. I wonder if I can get armour in some obnoxious shade of purple with green highlights. That would drive Vakarian insane while still technically obeying his orders. Damn, I need to get packed. No, I can do that tonight. Fuck, this isn't working … he still smells so damned good, and those eyes … . Damn you Frulk for sending my brain down this fucking path._

The pressure holding her against the counter vanished. She straightened and blinked in surprise, both relieved and oddly disappointed as cool air rushed into the space between them once more. Had she said something wrong? After waiting a second, she met his stare again. "Captain?" He looked pissed, or distressed … or something. His eyes flashed, and he held his mandibles high and tight except for the odd tiny twitch.

He stepped back another two, measured strides. "I want to make something as clear as black ice, Shepard." His mandibles twitched then clapped against his mouth. "Your place on the _Normandy_ is not in question, not for any reason outside of you endangering the ship or my crew. Even then, I'll discuss the decision with you. I won't retract my invitation out of personal pique. Our professional relationship will remain entirely that: professional."

She opened her mouth to apologize … to give voice to the horror that accompanied the idea that she thought so little of him as a captain, or even just as a _torin_. Before she got a single word out, a talon stabbed the air, halting her apology.

"I saw something in you when you appeared on my vid comms covered in blood, wounded and dressed in ragged BDU's, exhausted from not only fighting but then having to meet with the council. Even after that a day of surviving complete hell, you took the time and the risk to go behind the council's backs to warn me that my people were in danger." He closed the distance between them by a single step. "You have a fire in you that's rare in this galaxy."

Denial reared up to shoot that idea down, but again, he cut her off. "I haven't made a secret of my esteem." Another step and his stare burned so hot and so intense that it felt as though he could see straight through her to all the secrets she desperately needed to keep. At the same time, it seemed to reveal all of his secrets as well. Her fingers lifted as if she could touch them, but then she realized that her hand was about to caress the captain's face and wrestled it back under control.

Sort of.

Her hands trembled as he moved the tiniest bit closer. Once again her heart raced with shallow beats, her breathing rapid … her lungs trying to take up all the space inside her ribs. Excitement stepped up to make her entire nervous system tingle in the most delicious way, her skin begging to find out what those talons felt like against it. She swayed a little, one hand reaching back to clamp on the edge of the counter. Dear sweet and fluffy lord, she was going to fucking well swoon. Who did that? Certainly not her, and she was pretty certain no one had since corsets fell out of fashion.

"I want you in the worst way," he said, his voice pitched low and throaty, subvocals cutting straight through her, making her primary female sexual characteristics swoon despite the rest of her body's resolve not to. The bastards! How dare they betray her that way? He stepped closer still, the talon that had risen between them reaching out to caress the line of her jaw, slow and …

She drew in a shuddering breath … holy shit. _Red alert! Awoooga! Awoooga!_

… seductive, the woven polymer of his glove warm and rough enough to send every nerve down her neck straight to red alert. "And in every way imaginable." He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "I should have said nothing until the mission was complete—I loathe commanders who use their position and power to get what they desire—but I'm a _torin_ of a somewhat passionate nature … reckless, some call it." He stepped back and took another, shuddering breath. "Quite frankly, I don't think I would have made it a day on in that small a ship without telling you that I want that fire to warm me."

"And if it burns you?" she asked, her voice no louder than the breaths that shuddered in and out through her mouth.

He chuffed, the back of one talon stroking her cheek. "Then it burns me."

Her knees threatened to give out, but she locked them in place, her bid to avoid hitting the floor in a puddle of hormones aided by the fact he pulled a sudden and complete one-eighty, snapping into a rigid parade rest. "I want you to understand that—as inappropriate as it is to express—my desire in no way endangers your position on my ship. If you aren't interested, I'll accept that answer. I don't want to pressure you or have you feel coerced in any way." His talons raked over his long fringe. "If you're concerned about potential backlash, I can place you under Vakarian's direct command."

For a second, Shepard felt in real danger of her ovaries leaping out of her body and tackling him to the floor. His concern that she feel free of coercion … well, it said a great deal about the _torin … his honour … his heart._ She swallowed—the gulp audible—then cleared her throat, easing the tightness enough to utter words rather than dolphin squeaks.

"Thank you, Captain … " She pressed her lips together in a tight smile when he tipped his head and raised his brow plates. "... Saren." A long, slow breath helped calm the pots banging, triangles clanging, and various other alarms going off in her pelvic region. "I'm interested." She laughed and let out a heavy, breathless puff of air. "Dear god, yes, I'm interested."

Unsure of how to phrase the 'but' she felt in her belly, she kept it silent. It formed a vaguely worried shape … worry about awkwardness with the crew, or even with Saren if things went off the rails. And things did. All the time. Especially with her. Self-sabotage: her councillor at C-Sec claimed she could make Shepard a lifelong case study.

Saren stepped all the way into her, his keel touching her shoulder, but his hands remained at his sides. Good lord, he was tall. She didn't realize just how tall until she stood nose to cowl with him. "I have very specific and varied appetites," he said, his voice low and cutting all the way through to the vibrator still stabbing into her liver. "We'll take things slowly, and if you change your mind, you need simply say so."

When she nodded in reply, he lifted a single talon, the knuckle pressing against the tender skin under her chin, tilting her face up until their eyes met. "You have to talk to me. The words ... the consent … is everything. I need you to think it all through and to speak your mind, or we'll remain nothing more than Captain Arterius and SI Shepard."

"I understand." The words hung between them, more weighted and profound than any two words she could remember speaking. Dear and fluffy lord, he really wanted her, and with an intensity that sparked as much terror as passion. How? Why? He knew nothing about her. They had only just met. A great many men over the years had shown instant and intense interest only to have it dissolve into smoke the moment they came, lifted their mouths from her tits, and rolled off. All their lovely words and promises ended up dumped into the trash inside a knotted condom.

Saren turned a little, opening an escape route without backing away. Somehow, that slight movement dissipated all the smoldering tension, leaving nothing but a comfortable familiarity lingering between them. "Do you mind if I accompany you on your errands?" he asked. "We have a little under two hours before our appointment at the Armax." His mandibles fluttered. "I'd like the chance to get to know you."

Shepard took the first full, deep breath since the rest of the meeting broke up and nodded, giving him a genuine smile. "Yeah." Spending some time without all the grrr and argh of burgeoning crisis would be a great thing. She might even learn enough about him to trust his interest in her. "I'd like that," she said, remembering that she needed to use her words.

"Will you indulge me and wear your armour?" Again, the pad of his talon skated along the line of her jaw. She looked up, but that time he didn't meet her gaze, his brow plates lowered, his expression bemused.

"Sure," she agreed. "Heaven knows I've taken enough bullets over the past few days." She slipped away from between Saren and the counter, edging toward her bedroom. "I'll be right out." Instead, he followed her, offering assistance with all the pieces she knew she'd need help to seal into place, but had been too nervous to ask.

A lot of strange men had been inside her bedroom over the years. Even Frulk had been a stranger moving around her stuff once, but she'd never felt as self-conscious about her badly assembled nightstand and sparse belongings as she did right then. She really did live like a stranger in her own life.

Saren should see her desk at work. For better or for worse, that truly reflected who she was.

Saren's talons stroked her hair, startling her. When she turned to look at him, he smiled and cocked his head a little. "I couldn't help it. Hair … " He chuckled, his mandibles sweeping out and then back in a motion that felt self-conscious. "... only humans have tassels of silk on their heads." Another slight flutter. "I should warn you now that I'm very tactile."

Shepard nodded and smiled. "I don't mind, although one of my errands will be to get all but a centimetre of it shaved off."

As if encouraged by her permission, his right hand returned to her head, that time tracing the 'V' of scars down the side. "This looks like jaws." He leaned around her shoulder to look her in the eye. "Varren?"

She smiled and ran down her armour, checking the front seals. "Yeah. My first day out of the academy, I was sent to question Barla Von about one of his clients. He's a jumpy little bastard thanks to getting into bed with far too many batarian slavers and gangsters." She shook her head, a wide grin blossoming when his mandibles dropped, incredulous. "No, not literally … associating with them."

His talons traced the scars on the other side.

"When Frulk and I walked into his office," she continued, "he thought we were trying to shake him down and sicced three attack varren on us." Her fingertips skated along the furrow cutting through her jawline just behind her chin. "The alpha varren knocked me down and crushed my skull in his jaws. It was almost a year before I got back to work."

Satisfied her armour wouldn't fall off in combat, she turned to face him, glad that he'd invited himself in to help. "Everyone at the precinct except for Frulk, my father, and my bosses call me Dog-Bite or DB." She turned toward the bedroom door, stepping into a quick march to the front door. "Well, I guess we'd better get moving."

It took Saren until the hallway to catch up with her and stride toward the elevator at her side. "Your _patrem_ is with C-Sec?"

"He's a legend on the force," she replied, glancing his way. "Both for his record and for being a bastard."

"And your _matrem_?" He stepped ahead of her to palm the elevator control.

"She was a true legend in C-Sec," Shepard replied, a soft, sad smile kissing her lips. "She was the cop everyone wanted to be, myself most of all." She nodded thanks when he gestured for her to go ahead and stepped into the carriage. "She died when I was twenty." She cocked an eyebrow, deciding to push and see if the street ran both ways, and hit the control for the main floor. "How about your family? They all military?"

Saren chuckled and nodded. "My _patrem_ and _fratin_ are both fleet generals. _Pari_ has been retired for cycles, but Desolas stands at the head of the Third Defense Fleet, protecting the edges of the empire from pirates and slavers." He stared up at the numbers as they flashed down from 30 to G. "Desolas is the reason I'm not in a cabal. My _matrula_ was carrying me while she was a guard at the Digeris site when the Prothean ruins were excavated."

Shepard nodded, murmuring understanding. "Loose eezo stores, lots of dust in the air."

"Yes. My parents took over my education when my biotics manifested, and then Desolas threw the weight of his rank and hero status behind me when I entered the academy." Saren stepped toward the door even before it opened, and for a moment Shepard worried that she'd pushed too hard, getting too personal too soon.

Wait. She'd just asked if his family was military; she hadn't pressed. He offered the rest. But then, when the door opened, he stepped through and turned back, one hand holding the portal open, as if to make sure it didn't lose its mechanical mind and slam closed on her. Old-fashioned manners. Not all that surprising, considering the source, and a major relief.

"It must have been hard learning how to control your abilities on your own," she said, waiting to speak until he strode at her side. She couldn't even imagine trying to learn how to use biotics without guidance. "I would have probably destroyed several small towns in your place."

He chuckled and cast a sidelong glance that caught her eyes, his hand brushing against the outside of hers. "I broke my share of furniture. Once we made contact with the krogan after the First Contact War, I trained full time with a battle master. I had more than a few bad habits by then, but he straightened me out in a cycle … or five." He glanced at her face, his expression intense and searching. "Biotics don't concern you?"

Shepard paused, surprised. "Not at all." She grinned up at him as he stepped forward to open the door. It really wouldn't take much to get used to the respectful treatment, even with it being so old fashioned. "Without your biotics, we would have been too late getting to Anderson," she said as she slipped past him, "and who knows how much longer Alenko and Frulk would have laid in the garden." She squeezed his talons on her way by. "You saved the day; I was just the bullet in the gun."

Realizing she was holding her captain's hand, she tried to pull it back. She'd acted on impulse, and while it might have been compassionate, it had also been completely inappropriate. Instead of releasing her, Saren held onto her fingers, his thumb brushing along her knuckles once before he let them go and strode ahead to call a cab.

"I have nothing new for you, SI Shepard," Barla Von said when they entered his office ten minutes later. He kept his back turned toward her, and his tone bled arrogance like a severed vein.

Saren swooped past Shepard, closing the distance between the door and Von so quickly that she suspected him of using a charge. The little fellow turned to face her, coming suit to face with a wall of silver armour, and let out a startled little shriek.

Shepard bit back a sudden rush of anger—she didn't need protecting or an enforcer—and hurried after the captain. Gripping his forearm, she eased him back, meeting his glance with a sigh and a shake of her head. He seemed to get the message: 'I need to deal with this idiot every day, and I do … quite effectively.' A single nod replied, but he backed off to glower viciously near the wall.

Turning her attention to Von, she backed up until her thighs made contact with his desk. She lifted a hip to sit on the edge, and leaned down, one forearm across her thigh. "Shut up, Von. Seriously. Anderson attacked the council chambers and killed the human councillor, and you'd tell me that there's been no uptick in chatter?" She lifted her arm from her thigh and reached over to rest her hand on his shoulder. "I call bullshit."

The glowing eyes of his mask shifted back and forth between her face and Saren until she slammed her hand down on that shoulder. No. Fury spiked hot and sweet, her veins lined with smoldering coals. "Von, sweetie. You know that no matter how impressively ferocious Captain Arterius is, I'm so much worse. After all, I'm just waiting for an excuse to put you down. He's not. At least not yet." She thumped him again, then grabbed his air hose and pulled him in close enough that her face pressed against his. "Now, focus on the scary woman and tell me what the Shadow Broker has heard." Patting him again, she said, "I'll help you out by asking specific questions and speaking slowly."

"SI Shepard …." He tried to back up a step, but she grabbed hold of his hose again. He let out a sound that could have been a moan or a fart. She didn't smell anything other than the fear that clung to the inside of her nose, but would she? She always imagined fear smelled like rotten oranges or very brown bananas. Anyway ….

"Did Anderson get off the Citadel?" she asked, casually looping her arm around his neck. She didn't hate a lot of people, but her hatred for Von ran so deep, it had taken root like cancer in her bones. It took far more control than she'd ever admit to stop herself from yanking that hose free. "Or do I need to be watching my back every second?"

Von chuckled, low and cold despite the breathlessness. "You always need to watch your back, Shepard." He took a breath, actually managing to make the wheeze menacing. "You've made a lot of enemies on this station." Another wheeze. "Anderson's people are the least of your worries."

Shepard laughed, lacing it with ice. A lot of things terrified her in life, but ordinary criminals didn't rank on that list. "That just means I'm doing my job," she said, knowing he heard her conviction. "Now … Anderson. Where is he?"

The volus drew himself up, arms puffing out a little. "Rumour places Anderson en route for Altakiril. Prothean ruins litter the lower latitudes. He hopes to find something of use there." He shrugged. "I know only that he reportedly made contact with several asari matriarchs on Illium, asking them about something called the conduit. He believes there is a clue on the turian planet."

Shepard looked over at Saren. "Another turian colony." She shook her head and shrugged a little in answer to the question in the captain's stare. Knowing he wasn't asking her, just trying to sort his priorities to accommodate the new intel, she turned back to Von. "And that's it?"

He made a very turian sort of chuff. "Considering vol-clan has just handed you five hundred thousand credits worth of intel … yes."

Shepard sat up, one hand lifting to rub the massive scar on her jaw. "Do you know why I haven't killed you or locked you up, Von?" She shrugged when he just made a soft humming sound. "I mean, you did nearly kill me the first time we met, and you've ensured I can never have long, beautiful flowing hair for someone to run their fingers through."

Sliding her fingers through the short hair, Shepard allowed herself to imagine what long, flowing curls of deep mahogany would look and feel like. Raking it into a ponytail … feeling a lover's hands tangle in it … a baby's fist clinging to a lock ... . Regret flowed over her tongue, a bitter syrup that pooled in her throat, tweaking her gag reflex a little. She'd never been overly vain, but sometimes, a woman liked to feel beautiful … desirable even.

Her gaze slid toward Saren, but didn't connect.

 _Maybe you don't need long hair after all._

She threw off the momentary melancholy and turned her attention to Von once more.

"Vol-clan does not need to tolerate your harassment, _C-Sec_ ," Von said, backing away. She didn't miss the emphasis on her employer. "The Shadow Broker would never allow my death to go unavenged."

Laughing, she stood and popped her shoulders once before letting the affected mirth die. "Maybe, but you don't need to worry about whether or not I'm willing to test that theory as long as you stay useful." A disdainful hand patted the top of his head before she turned her back and strode for the door. She didn't look back to see if Saren followed, knowing he would.

"Have a nice day, you slimy, little motherfucker," she called back over her shoulder at the door.

They'd made it halfway to the mall before the captain said, "You can be truly terrifying."

She grinned and shrugged, just one shoulder. "I do my best." She stopped and closed her eyes, taking a long, deep breath of the clean, floral scented air of the presidium. "I hate the way he makes me feel. I always come out of there needing to run through decon a half dozen times and then take a handful of showers."

Opening her eyes when a heavy hand rested on her shoulder, Shepard gave the captain a thin smile. "I'm fine, but thanks for the backup." Her initial annoyance at his protectiveness had cooled to appreciation. Dealing with Von always took an emotional toll that she did her best to forget between drop bys.

"Better than fine," he agreed and nodded toward the mall. "I'm looking forward to witnessing my first hair slicing."

Laughing, Shepard led the way toward her barber's tiny shop in the corner of the mall. "Hair cut is the term. Hair slicing sounds terrifying." She glanced at his fringe. "Forgive me if it's rude to say this, but your fringe is different than the other turians I've seen." Her face and neck heated, but not as much from embarrassment as the desire to reach up and skate her fingertips along the lengthy, fine spike that extended back from his cheekbone.

His shoulders rolled, the talons of one hand reaching up to tug at the collar of his armour. "Genes enhanced by fashion," he replied. His mandibles fluttered. "As a youth, my biotics made me an outsider, an uncomfortable fact that I embraced and enhanced by modifying my appearance."

Shepard's fingers crept toward his once more, just brushing his talons before she got them under control. "If they're treating you like you're—"

"—a freak, then why not look like one," he finished, chuffing softly. "At least the piercings grew in."

"Freak is not the word I would have used," she qualified, her voice gentle. "But kids can be monsters. I think that's universal."

That time his talons gripped her fingers for a moment before returning to his side. "A great many things are. But yes, I rebelled and had my fringe enhanced, pierced everything I could get a piercing gun through, tattooed and dyed and generally made my _mari_ old before her time." He stopped at the barbershop's threshold and touched the display of suggested hairstyles. "I suspect that if we'd had contact with humanity, I would have had a hairpiece made just to hear her gasp of dismay."

Shepard grinned and shook her head, that mental image far too good not to indulge in. "That would have been documented and the vid pulled out every time you brought someone home to meet the parents." She held up her hands, sweeping them out as if highlighting a spot on the wall. "A lifesize portrait entitled 'Never forget; never forgive'."

He gave her a gentle, playful shove toward the chair. "Go get your hair sliced."

Shepard turned to give him a glare with no heat, then waved to Tim, her barber. "Hey, Tim. Got a few minutes to take care of my mop?" Her cheeks heated again, but that time the heat grew out of the intensity of Saren's stare.

"Sure, take a seat, I'll get out the clippers." The older, balding man spun the chair around for her to take a seat.

Shepard slipped into the chair. Lifting her feet onto the stand, she wriggled a little, feeling like a little kid.

Tim stepped up behind her and swept the cape over her armour. He'd no sooner fastened it around her neck when she felt Saren's presence looming right behind the barber's shoulder. She glanced back and grinned. "Yes?" A tiny shrug teased him. "You have no hair to cut, Captain."

He cleared his throat. "Could I do it?" His mandibles gave a single hard flick, and he cleared his throat. "I … um … just …."

The skin between Shepard's brows tied itself into a knot. "You want to shave my head?" Her belly pulled a half gainer and a double twist before splashing down. "Well, I …." She stuttered to a stop and looked over at Tim. "I … just … well, why?"

Squaring his shoulders, Saren also looked at the barber, his expression clearly expressing his reluctance to explain himself in front of a stranger. When he met her stare in the mirror, something asked her to indulge him, but more than that … to trust him. Another test, maybe?

She shook her head, her shoulders popping in a slight shrug. "It's all right with me, there's not much you can do to mess it up." Turning to Tim, she raised her eyebrows. "Do you mind?"

He chuckled and snapped a guard onto the clippers. "You'd be surprised how much I get asked." After turning them on, he passed them over. "I put a slightly longer guard on, just in case I need to neaten things up afterward."

An entire flotilla of butterflies exploded through Shepard's guts as Saren peeled off his gloves and hung them from his belt. Sharp, gentle talons ran through her hair a little as he familiarized himself with the different directions that it grew. His touch eased her down into the chair, calming the butterflies.

"Do you shave with or against?" he asked, glancing over at the barber, who hovered next to Shepard's arm.

"Against," Tim replied. The intense nervous energy coming off of him set all of Shepard's nerves on end and tightened the muscles in her lower back until they threatened to lock up. In fact, he seemed a lot more nervous than Saren, giving Shepard pause. Sweat prickled her upper lip and between her breasts and shoulder blades. Jeesus pleesus, how many turians had asked to cut someone's hair? And just how badly had they messed it up?

 _You're going to look amazing with tufts of red sticking out between the scars. Just fantastic. On a completely different note, headscarves are making a comeback._

Shepard turned to stare into the mirror as the buzzing closed in on her head, Saren's talons pressing her head forward. Not sure what she expected to happen when the clippers made contact, she jumped, then chuckled at herself when they just slipped through her hair, a hot knife through butter.

She watched Saren for a few minutes, an affectionate smile greeting the intensity of his care and concentration. He held his mandibles down and slightly away from his mouth, surely the turian equivalent of holding one's tongue between one's teeth. As he worked, his talons caressed her head, easing the tension from her muscles. Her eyes slipped closed, the pressure of his touch and a low, rolling sort of subvocal melting her into putty. To hell with the quality of the hair cut … she had a new barber.

A very familiar—and suddenly not unwelcome—throbbing, buzzing pleasure settled deep into her pelvis. Where she'd tried to squash her reaction to Saren's touch before, she let it build. When she started getting a little slippery down below, she allowed it. Hell, he'd made it more than clear that he wanted her; what did it hurt to give him proof that she wanted him right back?

All too soon, his hands cupped her jaw, lifting her head to look at her reflection in the mirror. "Well?" he asked, stroking his talons up around her ears to her brow, then back. She leaned into his touch for a moment. Eyes still closed, she breathed him in and savoured the calloused warmth of his talons. When she finally opened her eyes, it was to see his locked on hers, a hopeful … and slightly proud … smile awaiting her verdict.

Shepard turned one way and then the other, admiring the neat, even cut. "Nicely done, Captain," she said, letting some of the heat that he'd stirred up shine through her smile. He'd asked for a small amount of trust and come through. "It looks great."

Tim dusted her off, swept up the hair, and then took the cape off. She paid him, winking as she gave him a generous tip.

"Thanks for indulging us," she said and squeezed his shoulder. "Much appreciated."

Saren stopped halfway across the mall, turning to look out over the presidium. "Are you going to pick up some more comfortable armour so you can keep your word to Vakarian?" he asked without looking at her.

"Yes. I can't wear this stuff all the time. It's chafing in places that … well, if they're going to chafe, I'd rather it was from a much more pleasant friction." Her crooked grin faded a little when he didn't even glance her way.

"I'll meet you at Delan's," he said, sounding distracted. "I've just thought of something I need to do before we head over to the arena."

Shepard watched him, sensing something off. Oh well, surely _torins_ could prove as odd as men. "Okay," she said. "I'll be here when you're finished."

He turned back, flashing her a smile, one talon tracing the underside of her jaw once more. She pressed into it a little. "I won't be more than a few minutes." He checked the chrono on his omnitool. "We've got about forty-five minutes to get to the Armax. Dress in your new armour to save time."

With that, he strode off, moving with purpose, long strides carrying him toward the bridge. Shepard watched him for a moment, letting the muscles between her legs pulse good and hard a few times. She shuddered once, a delicious prickle of gooseflesh lifting along her arms. Damn, he was all sorts of sexy.

Turning toward Delan, the hanar shopkeeper one of the best on the Citadel, she hoped that sensing pheromones didn't have a place on the list of hanar talents.

"Greetings, SI Shepard," the hanar said, "welcome to this one's humble emporium." It—she used it because with hanar being as private as they were, she didn't know how to tell male from female—floated in front of its kiosk.

"Hey, Delan. How are things going today?" She moved past it to activate the armour menu. She chose a dark green set that mirrored a very traditional sort of marine armour. Most of it was a heavy canvas sort of fabric—sealed, of course—with plates that snapped on over top. A bulky utility vest and broad belt set it off brilliantly.

She checked the ratings: pretty great for light armour. Not a lot of protection from biotic attacks, but she could make up for that with enhanced shield emitters. She clicked on the emitters and a medical exoskeleton upgrade. Having the suit administer medigel where and when she needed it … nice upgrade. Especially with how often she'd been shot since Anderson showed up. Heating and cooling controls hid beneath the spiked gauntlet on her left arm. All the bells and whistles. C-Sec armour stopped bullets. Period.

Pulling down a set of heavy black, lace-up combat boots, she replaced the cheesey ones that came with the set. She buckled the top, then stepped back to look in the mirror. "Badass," she said, grinning like a fool. "Completely badass."

"Completely," Delan agreed. "This one finds that armour most becoming on you, Senior Investigator."

Shepard grabbed a dark, camo-green boonie hat off the rack and slapped it over her shaved head. A wide grin split her face as she regarded her reflection. "Excellent. Now I just need some dark aviator glasses and a cigar that I never light." She glanced back at Delan. "Do you have the accessories … the vest, belt pack, arm guards, and holster in black?"

"Of course, this one carries the entire selection of its fine goods in a variety of colours if you wish to express your individuality more fully." Delan sorted through its stores and laid out the items she'd requested.

"Black is fine, Delan, thanks." Shepard swapped them out, her grin widening as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Saren striding across the mall. "Do you have any aviator glasses?" she asked the shopkeeper without looking away from the turian captain. "Dark ones."

Saren halted when he saw her, his talons catching on the floor, and his mandibles making a slightly helpless-looking flail. "Mission accomplished," he said, his subvocals rolling low and deep.

Her grin warmed into something more sultry as she stared back into those eyes, the memory of his talons on her head and neck heating her all the way through. "Oh?" Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, her mouth suddenly lined with sand. "What mission is that?"

Closing the distance between them, he leaned down, his mandible warm and solid against her cheek. "Driving both myself and Vakarian crazy, but in much different ways." A breathlessness underscored his voice that pulled a swan dive straight down through her, splashing down—quite literally—in her pelvis.

Delan placed a set of large glasses in her hand, the tough polymer cool against her palm, the shielded tentacle even cooler. She slipped the glasses onto her face and struck a pose, hip cocked, arms crossed, head canted cockily off to one side. "Well then, mission accomplished indeed."

Saren grinned and jutted his chin toward Delan, saying, "Invoice the hierarchy for all of SI Shepard's gear." To Shepard, he said, "You're on my crew, your gear is covered."

Shepard straightened, the inevitable question whispering through her mind, as she snapped back to all business. Would he be doing the same if Samara stood there, or was he picking up the tab because of their tentative personal relationship?

A half-sigh, half-chuckle met her hesitancy. "Samara and Mordin have already wracked up tabs over a hundred thousand credits." He shrugged. "I think Mordin's is for lab equipment." He nodded to Delan and activated his omnitool. "At least I hope it is, and he's not charging the hierarchy for booze, narcotics, and salarian lap dancers."

"Thanks, Delan. Have a great day." Shepard pulled on her gloves and gathered up her bag of C-Sec tac gear. Following Saren, she headed for the exit, but slid to a quick halt after two steps. A brilliant … and slightly evil … idea crawled through the very back of her mind. Too brilliant, and too delicious to ignore.

"Saren, just a second." She spun and jogged back. "Delan, can I get a tube of black armour paint, please?" She paid him, grabbed the offered tube and dropped it into her bag. "Thanks."

"What is that about?" Saren asked when she rejoined him. "Doing a little customization?"

She looked up, meeting his quizzical expression with a mild, innocent one. "Perhaps," she said, knowing from the one brow plate that crept up his brow that he suspected the deliciously evil part of her plan. "Let's get to the Armax. We've got some holograms to kill."

* * *

 **(A-N:** Wow, long chapter. These two loved getting to know one another so much that I just let them go for it. This version of Saren wanted to take some time to let people know who he is, since his background is so very different from the game. So, yeah, next chapter, the Armax and then talking to Frulk. Thanks for all the support, as always. You are all super awesome.)


	15. Chapter 15

**Truth and Dare**

 **Araspiri** \- Blazing spirit. Ancient spirits related to Praela that elevated warriors during times of hardship and fear. Spirits of pure courage and nobility.

 **The Citadel** 5381:04:23: **22:02:24 (While Garrus is no doubt pacing somewhere and wondering just what his captain is up to.)**

"Does it feel strange inside your helmet?"

Shepard's face scrunched into a frown, confusion distracting her from the bullets for a moment. "What?" She pulled her focus back into line and took out the sniper pinning them both down from the top of the destroyed mass transit carriage. Her muscles sang with confidence and strength, even the slight soreness left over from the past few days just heightening the moment. She loved fighting in the arena almost as much as she loved Birinc Qan. It ran according to rules that made sure no one got truly hurt.

Not much of that in her life, lately.

She moved into cover, the back of the site clear, and allowed Saren's question to roll forward again. She glanced over to where the turian slipped from cover to cover, moving in on the carriage's open emergency exit with all the lithe grace of a jungle cat. Sweet dear and fluffy lord … she could just watch him all day.

"Your hair … or I suppose, your lack of hair, now?" Saren fired off three shots, hitting a merc dead center in the forehead. "Does your head feel strange inside a helmet?"

Shepard rolled out of cover, bolting forward to get a bead on a batarian who hid behind a card swiping booth. She allowed herself to sink into the dance, the simple breath and music of battle. Her new pistol bucked in her hand, smooth as silk and silent, dropping the hologram. "Does your … I mean, do your … spikey things feel strange in a helmet?"

"Spikey things?" Making it to the carriage, he ducked down the center aisle, sweeping between the seats while she moved up on the outside taking out another batarian as she covered his six. "You mean my fringe?"

"Sure, fringe then." She popped up, intentionally drawing fire to locate the last few enemy combatants. Bullets peppered her from the direction of the coffee shop. "Taking heat from the left border, up on the platform. Moving to enter the patio from the south end."

"Moving toward the north," he answered, exiting the carriage so recently the victim of a terrorist attack on the transit hub. Taking cover behind an overturned table at the north end of the restaurant's patio, he glanced her way. "How do you work with turians every day and not know what their fringe is called?"

Shepard picked her way through the simulated detritus of the massive explosion, the holographic corpses looking a little too real. Back pressed to the polycrete, she slipped along a railing, keeping her eyes averted from a small child covered in burns. Damn, she hated this sim. She'd run it way too many times. And he wanted to talk about her hair?

Movement. She froze, listening. Her heart sped up a little, but her breathing calmed when she heard a thin, wheezing sort of panting—the panicked respiration of someone who felt death pressing close—just behind and to her left. Staying low, she ducked around the end of the railing and put two bullets in a merc's knees, taking him down. One in the temple finished him off.

"I work with these people every day," she replied as, keeping low, she ran to take cover behind a picnic table. "I talk to them about work." From the table, she dodged to a planter, taking out another terrorist as he stood to fire on Saren. "I don't pry into their personal lives."

Saren took out the last one, then stood and checked his weapon. "What do you call those spikey things on your head is personal?"

Shepard cleared the rest of the patio. "Yes, because 'what are those spikey things' leads to 'what does your hair feel like?'" She smirked at his chuff. "And then … 'what are those bumps on your chest?' And then 'does it feel good when they're touched?' Professionalism goes straight downhill from there." She lifted her weapon from low ready and flicked the safety. "Clear."

"And work isn't personal? Not even a little?" He lifted his helmet from his head, striding toward her with an all too cocky swagger. "What I see between you and your first partner would call that statement a lie."

"Work can't be personal. To investigate the things I do, I need walls. Solid, professional walls without doors, or I'll end up like my mother." Shepard left her helmet on as her cheeks coloured, and her eyes prickled with tears. "Frulk is different; the one door I've allowed myself. He was there for me while I was learning how to talk and walk and read again after my skull was crushed." She sighed and cleared her throat. Frulk, for all her flippancy at work and for all her casual flirting, amounted to a solitary exception. Sure, she fucked around and joyously, but never with guys from C-Sec. She had to work with those people, and how did you look someone in the eye and ask them for an evidence bag and a pair of latex gloves after you'd begged them to bite your tits and stick their thumb in your ass?

Her belly began doing barrel rolls as Saren set his helmet on a table and reached out, carefully lifting hers from her head. The eyes that met hers when the barrier lifted clear shone serious and intense, a stare that allowed for no walls at all. "He's important to you."

Shepard glanced down, biting her bottom lip even as she nodded. How honest did Arterius … Saren … want her to be? Did she dare risk full disclosure … let him see the real Dog-Bite Shepard? She looked up. Why not? Couldn't hurt to test the waters. "Yeah, he's my best friend." Snatching her helmet from his talons, she shrugged. "And he's got a dick that just … " She rolled her eyes and purred, belying the panic attack going on beneath her nonchalance. "... there are no words for how good that glorious organ feels inside me." Spinning on her heel, she holstered her pistol then headed for the shower. "See you aboard the _Normandy_ in the morning, sir. 0400."

Just before she hit the locker room door, she turned back. "And yes, after I get my head shaved, my helmet feels strange." She waggled her head. "Strange but lovely. I like the way it rubs against the short bristles … and it's cold then warms … very sensual."

The captain chuffed and shook his head. "I see. So you're also very tactile?" His mandibles twitched in a smile that almost seemed a dare, especially with the way his eyes flashed.

"Extremely." Heart pounding like a rabbit's, she pushed on the door, and ducked inside. "Have a good evening, Captain Arterius."

Disappointment slid down her throat, burning like a hastily swallowed bite of something far too hot as Shepard undressed. A big part of her had hoped that Saren would follow her, despite it being the ladies' locker room. They'd fought well together, reading one another's body language and slight signals in a way more common to people who'd fought together for years. Sexy as hell, it got her blood pumping ... what Frulk called a battle high. She chuckled as she stepped out of her panties, not needing to look at them to know how soaked they were before she tossed them in her laundry bag.

She and Frulk almost always found a hidden corner at the _gikgah_ to bang away at one another post battle, their blood boiling, their night not finished until they'd both come hard enough to roll their eyes back in their heads. The Citadel roaring around them as loud and alive as the blood coursing through their veins, they'd cling to one another, and for a blessed few seconds, nothing else existed.

Dragging her towels and robe from her bag, Shepard draped them over the bench, absent fingers reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. She shrugged out of the undergarment, running her palms down her arms, eyes closing as she allowed the heat building just above her sex to burn. Saren … no, her reaction to him … had kept her off balance for hours, the sensation a lot like dissociation as she floated behind and above her body. As uncertain as she remained about the wisdom of banging the _Normandy's_ captain … her captain ... she allowed her imagination to suggest that his talons rather than her own, sad fingernails raked over her skin.

Someone stepped out of the shower, the asari giving her a thin smile as she padded past, heading to her own locker. Right. Standing naked in the middle of the locker room floor feeling herself up might lead to awkwardness. She dropped her bra on her laundry bag, then snatched up her towels, robe, and weapon belt. She hung them on the hook outside the curtain, her weapon belt hidden beneath the robe, but where her pistol remained in easy reach. The way her last few days had gone, she couldn't rule out ardat yakshi in the showers.

Setting her shampoo and body wash in the wire basket beneath the shower head, she turned the water good and hot. She stepped under the spray, a sharp smile greeting the virulent sting of heat and water pressure. Eyes closed, she turned her face up into the stream, just letting it flow over her. It would be a good long time before she got the chance to enjoy a hot shower of indeterminate length. Surely, on the _Normandy_ , showers would prove to be a quick in, scrub, and out. In space, few resources were as precious as water; something so simple and plentiful became invaluable once one left their planet behind.

She heard the asari move to the door, leaving her alone in the locker room. She supposed she had the time of day to thank for the unusual level of privacy. Most of the time, at least ten bodies occupied the space, bragging or gossiping, comparing armour, weapons, and scores. Smiling, she soaped her hands

The door opened again, but she paid the intrusion little attention. Probably the asari retrieving something forgotten. Three, fairly heavy steps ticked across the floor, gaining her sudden and breathless attention. They stopped, then she heard the subtle scrape of feet pivoting against tile. The intruder approached the door to the shower room. Splashing the water with one hand, Shepard reached through the curtain, wrapping her fingers around the grip of her pistol.

"That won't be necessary," a smoky voice said from the other side of the curtain. Strong talons wrapped around her wrist, the pads pressed to her pulse point. "I won't move any further than this spot without an invitation." As she eased her hand away from her gun, Saren kept hold, his talons warm and leathery, but not at all unpleasant.

A long, ragged breath fluttered over her lips as she imagined those talons brushing over her nipples. Oh for fuck's sake. She was so thoroughly screwed. The good ship _Awkwardness_ , ready for boarding at Gate You-Should-Know-Better.

"I want to see you," he said, his voice low but firm. "I want to touch you, but I won't move unless you allow it."

Belly trembling so hard that it sent tingling tremors out to the ends of her fingers and toes, Shepard sucked in a quick breath, swallowing and then licking her lips to try to speak without getting all breathless and swoony again. She failed, just standing there, knees weak, sex throbbing.

"Jane? You have to invite me, or I'll go." He cleared his throat, his own uneasiness betrayed in the low warble of subvocals. "Preferably before someone walks in, and I get arrested."

"Come in," she said, finding her voice at last. The curtain opened and Saren stood there, silver plates and near-black hide instantly gleaming as the water splashed off her skin, soaking him. He held onto her wrist, lifting it between them as he entered, pressing in on her a little.

"Are you brave?" he asked, a heated but teasing smile flicking his mandibles against the sides of his mouth. His eyes told her that he already knew the answer, but intended to push her somewhere that he needed her permission to go.

"I like to think so," she replied, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you mean."

His mouth opened a little and he closed his eyes, pressing his face in close to her neck, but without touching her. Breathing in, he sucked the air through his mouth, tilting his head as if tasting it. "No, you're not afraid," he whispered. "You've got the heart of a warrior." He drew away from her, the back of one talon skating along her cheek. "And skin of silk." Closing his eyes again, he inhaled, letting out a low rumble along with the breath. "Spirits, you're intoxicating."

His eyes met hers, and he nodded for her to back up until her backside brushed the tile, the surface cold enough to make her jump a little, her back muscles locking for a half second. Twisting away from her, he pulled the curtain closed, stepping back until they stood at opposite ends of the two metre space. The pacific-sunset blue of those eyes moved over her slowly, his stare intense and palpable. Her stomach muscles fluttered, her breath hitching as her skin lifted into gooseflesh despite the heat, every millimetre begging him to touch it before he finally closed the distance between them.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, taking her wrist again. "Despite, or maybe even more beautiful because of the bruises and scars." He traced a wide bruise that spread black and green across her entire shoulder … where she'd been shot protecting Chloe Michel.

"You're beautiful too," she said, blushing at the dorky-sounding words, but not wincing away from their truth. His confidence transformed his tall, rangy stature into something that seemed to take up all the space and air in the room. The broad bowl of his cowl hung low between wide-set, well-muscled shoulders that led into long, arms. Heat radiated off of him, exciting her skin even further, all that warmth migrating straight down between her legs. Good lord, he needed to touch her. If he didn't, spontaneous genital combustion would become a very real possibility.

The plates of his chest swept down toward a narrow, flat belly covered in tiny splotches of silver plate on black hide. They begged her fingers to play along their edges, to dedicate a couple of days to discovering every nuance of the borders between plate and hide … to dip her tongue over their surface to see if he jumped with pleasure, or it that happened when she struck hide. Eyes wandering lower, taking just as much time exploring him as he was her, she reached the two, winged plates that covered the area at the top of his pelvis. Her eyebrows raised seeing that his sex sat so much higher than human or krogan males. It made sense, though; the broad expanse of his bony pelvis provided no protection for delicate bits.

He stepped closer, the wide-set legs rippling with long, whipcord muscles, everything about the _torin_ a dichotomy of elegance and apparent frailty coupled with a strength and physical surety that promised he was anything but frail. A knuckle followed the contours of her face, then his hand lowered to the wrist he still held. A metallic click surprised her, as did the appearance of her handcuffs, glistening around the base of her hand.

"Still brave?" he asked, his stare challenging her. Invisible sparks flew, bursting like bubbles in soda along her skin. She shivered, but met his smile with one just as electric.

"I am." Her heart stopped dead at his smile, the expression on his face promising to reward that bravery in ways she couldn't even imagine.

"Hands above your head," he said, his tone announcing that nothing about their sexual relationship would be a democracy. She had the choice to walk away, but if she stayed, she obeyed.

Her fingers banged into the wire shelf hung below the showerhead, rattling the container of body wash. Still without making contact, he leaned up, fastening her handcuffs to the basket. Stepping back, he reached out through the curtain, returning with the belt of her robe. She cocked an eyebrow at the belt, curious but not afraid. Without any explanation, he wrapped the belt over her eyes a couple of times, very effectively blindfolding her. Excitement kicked in, adrenaline flowing like greek fire through her veins..

"You all right?" he asked, the combination of concern and desire woven through the three words enough that a heavy wave of muscle contractions rolled through her, culminating in a slow drip of lust in her depths.

"Yes." She didn't try to disguise the eager breathlessness in her reply. Whatever game he intended to play, her ante sat squarely in the middle of the table awaiting his deal.

"Spread your feet." Sharp talons nudged the instep of her right foot, encouraging her to do as he'd said. "All the way to the divider."

When the brick dividers pressed against the outsides of her feet, her legs were spread wide enough to have her slightly off balance, her sex open enough that try as she might, she couldn't disguise the slickness running from her and down the insides of her thighs. As if he could read her mind, the pad of one talon slipped up the inside of her thigh, just a quick swipe. The chuff that followed rolled deep in his chest.

Long seconds passed in silence, leaving her imagination to supply her with all sorts of ideas as to what he was doing with the slickness on his talon. Straining to hear any clue as to his position and intentions, she held her breath, every nerve ending singing. Her first hint came in the form of soft puffs of breath against the tender skin of her throat. He said nothing, never touching her, only the movement of the air leaving his lungs betraying how near he stood.

The hairs on her skin lifted like flowers reaching for the sun, a low, musical moan dancing in the back of her throat. She took a deep, quick breath and tilted her head back a little, opening herself to him. A hand pressed heavily over her heart, firm enough that she felt the beat of her pulse, quick and light, against her chest wall. Her already shaky knees weakened further, her weight hanging off the sharp, metal bands of her handcuffs. She had a set of omnicuffs on her belt as well, but she'd had bad experiences in the past of perps hacking the damned things, so preferred to go old school.

She shifted a little, metal rattling against metal, and smiled at Saren's quick intake of breath. Thank the dear and fluffy lord for old school.

He pressed close, his presence electric along her length as he reached above her, then the delicate perfume of her body wash filled her nostrils: sweet, spicy, and laden with the scents of jasmine and white lilac.

Saren chuffed and leaned in, his face pressing hard and angular into the curve of her neck. He breathed in, slow and deep, his mouth plates nuzzling her jugular groove. His mandibles fluttered against her skin, and when he spoke, his subvocals rolled through her like thunder. "Dear spirits." He moaned, the vibrations tickling just above her clavicle. "This is the scent that makes me want to taste every millimetre of you." His tongue flicked out: hot, rough, and pointed, catching her just under the angle of her jaw and dragging a wavering moan from her lips. "Well, one of them."

Her belly fluttered, all her muscles tensing until they hummed like plucked violin strings as a talon skated along the inside of her right thigh, and then she smelled herself, the scent strong enough to be poised right in front of her face. "This is the other." The pad of his talon pressed against her lips. "What do you think?" he asked, mandible brushing her ear, his voice low and sultry enough to turn the inside of her mouth to sand. "Taste it and tell me if I'm mad for finding it sweet."

Shepard slid her tongue out between her lips, keeping it soft and flat as she lapped his talon from his second knuckle along its length then over the sharp curve at the end. Parting her lips, she eased the tip into her mouth. Sucking lightly, she swirled her tongue over the pad, smiling a little at his throaty purr.

His talon slipped out from between her lips, tugging against her suction. "Well?" he asked, his breath honeyed and a little metallic as he shared it with her, his mouth less than a finger's width away.

"I think I need a second opinion," she whispered. Leaning in a fraction, she teased the edge of his upper mouth plate with the tip of her tongue. In answer, his tongue darted out to dance with hers, caressing the tip before withdrawing. Panting, she grinned, brushing a slow lick along her upper lip. "I don't think it gets much better …" Another lick. "But, I haven't put my mouth on you, yet."

She leaned forward, her body bowing against her restraints. Hungry, almost desperate to end the teasing, her lips demanded to feel the rough, solid plate of his mouth against their softness, her tongue eager to burn the taste of his into her memory. Instead, the heat of his body vanished, replaced by a thick envelope of her body wash's perfume.

"Patience," he said, his breath appearing at her ear for a split second then disappearing. "Some things are worth the wait."

Rough, slippery talons touched her hairline, then raked toward the back of her head, stroking her scalp as they worked the wash into a lather. Behind the blindfold, Shepard closed her eyes, relaxing into the touch. Good lord or spirits … whichever … she had a new hair washer too. Sudsy talons and palms worked their way down her neck, the sharp edges of the talons pressing ever so gently against her jugular grooves, flexing ever so slightly, but with promise rather than threat.

"Turians have rules about how we present and use our talons," Saren said. "We only touch bare hand to bare hand if we're proposing a deepening of a personal, emotional or sexual relationship."

"Why you gripped my wrist instead of my hand," she whispered, weaving a little beneath his touch. Waves of dizziness washed over her, leaving her feeling awash in an ocean of anticipation. Combined with the heat and steam of the shower, she hung heavier and heavier from her wrists, faint, almost numb. Her breathing shallowed and quickened as those talons slipped over the smooth lines of her throat, the points pressing hard enough to scald her piqued nerves without breaking the skin.

"Shhhh," he whispered. His mouth nuzzled her lips. "Breathe slowly and deeply. I've got you. You're safe in every way." Another nuzzle, her brow that time. "That's what this gesture is: a promise that you're safe with me."

Shepard took his advice, sucking in a long breath, seeking cooler air above the thick steam. Her legs steadied even as her belly muscles started to collapse from fatigue. She'd been holding them rigid to maintain some small semblance of control, fighting against her renegade ovaries.

The daggers at the tips of his talons drew lines of pure fire through the gap between her clavicula. As they descended the flat plain of her chest, she inhaled, every nerve in her entire body … every sense drawn down to those barbs. He played her, a master building pleasure until a symphony of want whispered from her throat. By the time those talons climbed the rise of her breasts toward her nipples, she held that same breath, quivering at the precipice of those notes either carrying her up into the thin, cool atmosphere or dropping her into a long, hard fall.

Then the pad of what felt like his thumb brushed over the hard nubs of eager, aching nerve endings. While delicious, it eased her down, cradling her through the fall, the breath shuddering out of her. His thumbs circled her nipples once, then again, the calloused hide pulling her up into the touch before it vanished once more.

Again a cloud of fresh perfume exploded in the space between them, and broad, flat hands caressed across her shoulders and down her arms, all the previous sensuality of his touch turned caretaking. Shepard took a couple of shaky breaths, swallowing at least five demands that he get at least one talon on her clit and take care of the grenade ready to blow her pelvis into shrapnel before she wrestled herself under control.

"Saren?" His name accompanied his turning her around, the handcuffs tightening as the chain twisted.

"I've pushed you far enough for one day, _Araspiri_ ," he replied, his tone gentle. "Your body is trembling and fatigued." He reached around her to turn down the heat a little. "We have time. You don't need to prove your strength and bravery all in one go." His face pressed into the curve of her neck for a moment before his arms wrapped around her waist, washing even as he embraced her. "It's about the voyage, not the destination."

Shepard leaned back into his solid strength, letting him hold her. "Maybe not, but it couldn't hurt to give a girl a screaming orgasm, could it?"

He chuckled and pulled back, bracing himself with a hand encircling her waist as he crouched to lather the bodywash down her legs. "I want to have time to keep you balanced on that pinnacle for hours when we get there, and we've been extremely lucky in getting as much time as we've had."

As if Saren had divined the interruption in the stars, the door flew open, bouncing back against the wall with a bang, and a loud jumble of excited voices poured through, the so violent that Shepard yelped. As her entire body jumped, the muscles along her one side tied themselves into a charlie horse, the sudden agony pulling a long whimper from her throat. Saren's talons slid down her sides, seeking out the knots, the knuckles and the heels of his hands working the spasms out. When she sighed and relaxed, the pain slipping down the drain along with the water, he reached up and undid the cuffs, then unwound the blindfold.

Shepard glanced back, asking silently if she could turn around, but then he wrapped a strong arm around her back, helping her from the spread-legged position. She staggered a little, clinging to his arms when her legs complained about having held the same position for too long. Gentle hands rubbed her wrists and hands, restoring the circulation. The care behind every movement sank an anchor of trust and affection deep into her gut.

Who was this _torin_ , and where had he come from? Surely, he couldn't be real. Maybe one of the ardat yakshi got to her in the council chamber and everything since amounted to the last of her neurons pinging.

He pulled her in against him, settling her into the curve of his chest, and leaned down, nuzzling the top of her head. "Are you okay?" The whisper barely carried over the spray and spatter of water.

Looking up to meet his stare, Shepard reached up, her palm caressing the length of his mandible. She didn't dare speak her question and betray his presence, but then she remembered what he'd said, and held out her hand, palm up. She smiled and nodded when he looked from her hand to her eyes a couple of times.

 _Yes, I'm sure that I want more. In fact, I haven't been more sure of anything since my mother died._

And she was, so much so that when he wrapped his large hand around hers, their palms pressing together, she felt a door open, the sweet, cool breeze of change blowing through.

"How am I going to get out of here?" he mouthed silently, his eyes flashing but with humour.

"Did you bring a robe?" she whispered back. A broad grin suffused her entire being, a blessing after all the pain and stress of the past couple of days.

In the end, a towel draped over his head disguised him enough to get him out the door. She watched him duck into the male locker room, then turned toward her clothes. She needed to get dressed and get home to Frulk. After hours of being teased and left hanging, she had an itch that needed scratching before it went thermonuclear or it seriously compromised her mental state.

"Welcome to Huerta Memorial's psychiatric department, SI Shepard," she whispered, slipping on a clean pair of panties. "I see here under reason for admission that you suffer from excessive sexual frustration. Oh dear, I see you went on a rampage and … oh my … that many men … ahhh and women too." She chuckled as she wriggled into a pair of jeans, the denim sticking to her damp skin. "Oh, the humanity!"

* * *

"Frulk? You here?" Shepard called as she walked through the door. She sniffed, a wide smile greeting the smell of fried chicken. "You'd better not have eaten all the chicken, love. Today is a half-bird day. Complete with onion nuggets." She dropped her bag of armour and dirty laundry just inside the door. "Frulk? Is there any of that wine left from your parent's visit? That was amazing."

She frowned, a mild shot of concern sending her hand to the grip of her pistol when he didn't answer. From the bedroom, she heard the sounds of a biotiball game on the vidscreen. Frulk hated biotiball; he'd never sit to watch a game. Maybe he'd stepped out to pick up Dr. Solus. After dropping her bag at the door, she reached behind her to hit the lock control, then moved into the kitchen before peeking through the bedroom door. She found him asleep, curled up on his side and propped up on a small bank of pillows, her pillow hugged against his cheek.

A soft sigh drifted through the air as she holstered her gun. Leaning over him, she kissed the corner of his mouth. "Hey there, sleepyhead." She caressed his cheek as those big, beautiful eyes fluttered open, looking a little lost until they latched onto her.

"Jane." He smiled, blinking slowly, then rolled over. "You're back." Eyes drifting closed again, he sniffed, making a show of scenting something out. "I don't smell the captain on you. Was I wrong?"

She chuckled and shook her head, leaning in to kiss him again. "No, you weren't." She pressed her fingers over his mouth. "Shush, you. And no, while he worked me into a lather—both literally and figuratively—Saren didn't get that far." She caressed the thin, sensitive hide just under his jaw. "And I brought all that pent up 'fuck me until I can't see straight' home to you."

"Home," he repeated, an inscrutable expression flashing across his face. Frulk buried his face in her hand, nuzzling it. "Your hand smells of you." He grinned, then winced. "And hand sanitizer. Yuck, you've ruined the perfect scent to wake up to."

Heat blazing up her neck, Shepard shrugged. "Well, okay. Yeah, I tried to get all my horny craziness back here to you, but sweet Jesus, Frulk … I'm only human! He had me worked up to the point that exploding and covering the inside of the cab with pussy juice and half-digested pizza was a real possibility." She slapped the plates on his chest when he chuckled. "So yeah, sue me, I disabled the cab's cameras and took the edge off." She straightened and walked over to her closet, peeling clothes off as she went. "The _torin_ knows a thing or two about playing a woman's body. It's both fantastic and diabolical."

Finally naked—sweet, blessed relief—she bent over her dresser, sorting through her drawers, pulling out clothes to pack for her trip. A tiny, wry but loving smile teased the corners of her mouth as she heard the stealthy movements on the bed, the frame betraying Frulk, creaking as he stood. Krogan and sneaky didn't really go together, but still, he took long enough crossing the few metres of floor that her skin tingled in anticipation long before his fingers wrapped around the back of her neck.

"Can I help you?" she asked, grinning as he massaged her neck and the muscles along the base of her skull. When his other hand joined in, she leaned into the dresser a little, letting her head loll forward.

He pressed against the back of her legs and ass. "It would be unforgivably lazy to let another male do all the work for me, wouldn't it?"

Shepard sighed and straightened, relaxing into his touch. "Not to mention a capital sin to skip those hands pulling all the right moves, in all the right places." When one arm wrapped around her, she clung to it. "I'm going to miss this."

He pressed her back down over the dresser. Strong hands made their way down her spine, his thumbs pulling every scrap of tension from her muscles, and long, almost keening, cries of pleasure from her throat. "I'm going to miss you," he said, his voice almost inaudible.

Shepard tried to straighten and turn, but he held her down, gently but with enough strength to tell her he didn't want or need comfort right then. Instead, she felt his plates spread, his length sliding out and between her thighs. Closing her eyes, she spread her legs a little and braced against the scarred wood.

"We're on an outside wall," she said, the warning stolen from her mouth as his head probed between her already slick lips, sliding in a couple of centimetres.

"Let them listen and complain; they won't be hearing anything but silence for a couple of weeks." With a heavy grunt, he thrust, slamming her into the dresser and the dresser into the wall. The thump echoed like thunder, only her hands braced against the edge saving her ribs.

"I'm going to lose my security deposit," she said, letting out a long groan, but then chuckled when he thrust again. "So worth it." Bracing herself more solidly, she glanced back. "Put the damned thing through into Sophia's apartment." Spurring him on with cries loud enough to rival the slamming of wood against wall, Shepard met his every thrust, pushing back into him until her entire body exploded into shuddering release. A moment later, he gave one last, strong heave—shoving the dresser into the wall and leaving one last mark in the sheeting—and bellowed as he came, filling her.

"Just a sec," she whispered when he pulled her in against his body, his arms wrapping around her. She turned her head to kiss his cheek as he hooked his chin over her shoulder, his massive head leaning into hers. "Don't pull out." She held herself still as he pulsed inside her, wanting the moment to last.

"It's going to go back in eventually," he said and chuckled. One hand slid up the soft expanse of her belly to cup her breast, his thumb playing with the nipple.

"I know, but let's just stay right here for a second, okay?" Letting him hold her on her feet, Shepard melted into his embrace and his touch. "I'm going to miss you too, you know." She turned to kiss him again, even that slight movement making him thrust helplessly. Blinking back the tears that burned in the corners of her eyes, she tilted her head, resting her temple against his cheek. "I haven't spent a single day without you in almost a decade."

He chuckled and nuzzled her shoulder, his tongue drawing a thick line along the muscle and up her neck to her ear. A soft puff of air tickled her jaw as he sighed. "And Wrex fusses over us becoming bond-mates."

Shepard pressed a smile onto her lips and nodded, but remained silent. When she felt his erection beginning to ease, she gripped the arm around her waist. "Carry me into the bathroom? I don't want to have to scrub the carpet."

He chuckled and lifted her easily in his arms. "While you clean up, I'll warm up supper?"

When he let her down, bare feet touching the cool tile of the bathroom floor, Shepard eased herself from Frulk's grip, turning to face him as he slipped from inside her. Taking his face between his hands, she leaned in to kiss him, her tongue playing along his rough, lower lip until his came out to meet her. When he tried to back away, she shook her head, resting her hands on his chest.

"First, let me get you cleaned up." Fingers teasing the seams of his plates, she knelt, grinning up at him. She closed her eyes, savouring the moment, the scent and taste and feel of him almost painfully familiar. For those moments, as his issue dripped from her onto the tile, she allowed herself to imagine embracing the cage … coming home to her best friend every day, welcoming his children—their children—into her life … going to work … laughing and playing … making love. It wasn't such a terrible cage. Most wouldn't see it as a cage at all, so what was wrong with her?

She let him slip back into his plates, giving the head one last, teasing flick with the tip of her tongue, then reached up to wrap her arms around him. Resting her brow against the soft belly just above the plates that protected his sex, she let out a long sigh. "I'm too lazy to get up," she said, grinning at his warm, throaty chuckle.

Large hands slid beneath her arms, lifting her onto her feet then pulled her into a tight hug. "Don't go falling in love while you're out there," he whispered into her ear, then pulled away, spun and strode from the room.

Shepard's hands rose to her lips, fingertips locked against them to still their quivering as his words stabbed her, a dull pike tearing her guts into shreds as it punched through. She backed to the shower, turning it on and cleaning herself up. Going through the motions, she kept her face turned into the spray, allowing the tears to wash away, the sound of the water covering up her hushed sobs.

If only they all understood how badly she wished her soul didn't turn into a pit of churning panic at the thought of that simple, perfect life. A spark formed at the back of her skull, a connection whispering through her sorrow, cutting off the tears. Was that how her mother had felt? As much as Hannah Shepard had loved her daughter and her work, had she felt locked inside the cage? Had she carried those bars with her every day until she felt them pressing in so tightly that she could only think of one way to escape?

Shepard let out a long breath and turned off the water. She wrapped a towel around herself and padded to the sink, splashing cold water over her eyes until they looked a little less like piss holes in the snow. That saying—one of her father's classics, much like the codsucking whorebinder—pulled out a bitter chuckle. Who the hell had been the first person to look into someone's eyes and come up with that image?

"Jane? Chicken and onion things!"

"Coming, big guy." She dried her face and headed for the kitchen, trading her wet towel for a dry one on the way.

Two hours later, she lay curled up in bed, Frulk's head embraced against her chest, her fingers absently wandering between the plates on his head. His mouth teased and suckled her breasts, lips and tongue playing with her nipples as they both came down off a second, much more neighbour-friendly though no less boisterous fuck. A delicious, well-used rawness burned between Shepard's thighs while her body luxuriated in a very pleasing endorphin high.

Gradually, as she came down enough for thoughts to form through the glorious haze, snippets from that morning's meeting began replaying through her head.

"Are you going to be okay talking to Wrex about Justicars?" she asked, leaning down to press a kiss to the plate in the center of his head. "I know there's a reason you avoid the subject." She kissed him again and let the silence settle a bit before she asked, "Tell me about it?"

He just latched harder onto her breast, his tongue laving the nipple as he held it between his teeth. Shepard shook her head and waited, caressing him with a slow, soothing touch. Whatever her Frulk's reason for fearing or hating Justicars—maybe both—he'd only talk about it when he was ready.

Nearly a half hour passed before he pulled back enough that her breast slipped from his mouth. He nuzzled into it. "It's because of Jarrod," he said at last. "When Bakara and Wrex were away, which was most of the time, they left me with him."

Shepard hummed a soft encouragement to continue without ceasing her caresses. Although she'd always suspected the story behind it would break her heart, the pain of confirmation stole her breath.

"Biotic justicars have to be able to dominate the wills of others," he said, his breathe cool on her damp skin. "It's their only defence. It's not a natural ability outside of ardat yakshi, so it needs to be practiced."

Shepard whimpered, and hugged him closer. Oh sweet, fucking lord.

He shifted, nuzzling her breasts again, seeking comfort from their softness and warmth in the face of hard, brutal truth. Shepard wrapped herself around him. She knew that she couldn't shelter him from the truth, but damn it, that wouldn't stop her from trying.

"The more repugnant or difficult the target finds the commands, the more power it takes to override their wills." She heard him swallow. "The things he made me do …."

Shepard shook her head and kissed him. "You don't need to tell me, love."

But, apparently, having started, momentum took over, spurring him on to clear out the ages old muck. "When I was five, it started with small things … dares … games that would embarrass me, but when I got older …." He pulled away, looking up to meet her eyes, his hand lifting to caress her cheek, his fingertips following the line of her cheekbone to brush over her lips. "Don't hate me."

Shepard's heart cracked, a sharp pain—like a shattering bone—lancing through her. A soft shower of tears turned into a deluge so thick that she could barely see him. "Oh, Frulk, never. Never." She kissed his fingers, then wrapped her hand around them, pulling them in against her chest as she hugged him close. "Never. I love you."

He sucked in a long, wet, noisy breath. "When I got older, he'd make me go out and find small animals … varren pups, mostly. It started with just killing them, but eventually …" A harsh keen broke into the narrow space between them. "... he'd make me torture them first. I'd be trapped inside, screaming the entire time, but there was nothing I could do, Jane. I tried, I fought so hard, but I couldn't break his control."

"Shhh, please, love." She rocked him ever so slightly, desperate to comfort him. "If it hurts, you don't need to tell me."

"One day, I woke up, and he was sitting next to my bed, a newborn pup in his hands." His free arm wrapped around her, a steel band fastening him to life and love. Shepard wriggled down to cuddle in along his length, her face pressed against his, her lips a breath away from his mouth. He tilted his chin to nuzzle her before continuing. "He'd paid someone to raise three extra eggs because he needed to be able to compel his targets to kill."

Jane let the rest of the tragic story wash over her, all of her concentration set on staying relaxed and not throwing up.

"The day Wrex found out, Jarrod had me holding a gun to my head." He shuddered and burrowed in. "By that time, it would been a relief, Jane. At least it would have stopped."

"It would have been a tragedy, love. The galaxy is so much brighter because you're in it." Her love for Wrex tripled as she imagined him discovering that sick son-of-a-bitch torturing his son and, taking his _sikah_ in hand, carving the bastard's heart out. She didn't know what she hoped for more, that he'd eaten it like the ancients, or stomped it into muck. Either way, she hoped that Wrex threw the carcass to the varren.

"I can't be a part of it," Frulk whispered, his voice soft, but coloured with notes of relief to have shared it with someone. "I'm not biotic, so I'd never have to learn it … never have to practice on anyone, but …."

Leaning back again, he met her eyes. "You don't hate me?"

"I couldn't hate you, love. Not ever. Hate Jarrod … oh yeah, with a fiery, burning passion. But, you … nope." She kissed him. "If anything, I love you even more than I did a half hour ago. You're so strong. I couldn't have carried that around for fifteen minutes." She pulled his big ol' head back in against her breast. "And you came out of all that with such a good, kind heart … such a passion for justice and to look out for others. You're one amazing krogan, Urdnot Frulk, and I'm honoured to be your lover and your best friend."

* * *

(A-N: Hug Frulk. That is all. Well, except for ... Thanks for the support and the reviews. You're all super mega awesome.)


	16. Chapter 16

**Amarceru** \- Dextro equivalent of coffee. It is a thick, steeped tea made from the root of a ground-hugging shrub. Very high levels of stimulant.

 **Benenavis** \- Tradition of paying homage to the spirits of the departed and asking the spirit of the vessel/unit to guide the crew during the mission ahead.

 **Kresat frasacti(s)** \- Literal: herd spooker(s). Vernacular: crazy bastard(s)

 **COB** \- Chief of the Boat. The officer who acts as a liaison between the enlisted personnel on a boat and the officers.

Time is expressed in a digital form in descending order. Example: 5381:04:20:26:19:09 is the date of the attack on Eden Prime/Aephus down to the Ahtrix (second). Cycle (Cycle):Month (Tadecem):Day (Luxin):Hour (Orhan):Minute (Luxin):Second (Ahtrix)

 **The Citadel** 5381:04:24: **06:32:00 (0500 Earth Standard Time)**

Few things made Garrus as grateful for his closet-sized quarters than the hour before prima shift went on duty. The racket from the corridor beat at his aural canals even from the other side of his door, eighty feet pounding on the deck plating, voices calling out, joking, laughing, grumbling about needing a massive mug of _amarceru_ before they could deal with life. If he'd been forced to wake up in the midst of all that noise and movement, the crew would have met horrific ends and he'd been forced to pilot the _Normandy_ alone.

He glanced at his chrono, blinking a few times to sweep away the blurry fog. 06:00:00. _Tarc_. He wanted to get out of bed and head up to greet the newcomers about as badly as he wanted to catch a virulent venereal disease. He didn't trust the asari merc, and Shepard …. He forced his tightly clenched jaw to release. How he felt didn't matter, not with Saren inviting her aboard. And, she handled herself well in a fight.

He could put up with her for a week or so. A long sigh trickled out on the heels of that admission.

Still, the _Normandy's_ crew didn't need outside help to accomplish the mission. Evolution hadn't distilled turians into politicians or merchants, instead it had honed them into weapons meant for a single purpose: war. Everything in turian culture formed a blade, even the structure of their society: the best warriors forming the point of the sword as they were elevated to the hierarchy and the best of those to primarch. Where did a rogue AY positive asari and Shepard fit into that structure?

"Where do you?" _Tarc_. If he didn't stop resenting Shepard, he might actually have to experience some sort of catharsis and get over himself. He'd never managed to fit into the hierarchy's slots any better than Shepard seemed to fit into the machine of C-Sec. Clearing his throat he flopped over on his back. For his part, as soon as the military wedged him into the machine, he started loosening screws until it flew apart. At least Shepard seemed to be trying to fit, at least as far as being damned good at her job.

"Fine, so you can see why the captain recruited her," he muttered to himself. "Quit grumbling and just get out of bed. If she shows up before you do, you'll have to hate her another three or four percent." Still, it took him another minute to swing his legs over the side of his rack. Raking his talons over his fringe, he yawned, jaws stretching wide. Too damned early. At least he didn't need to try to elbow his way through the shower line. He learned early in his career to shower just before bed in order to avoid the morning rush.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his mandibles relaxing into a small grin as he let Shepard drift to the back of his mind. Therum. Missions didn't come more challenging. Lava flows, unstable ground, earthquakes, landslides, possible eruptions … the threat of ardat yakshi or lystheni began to seem like a welcome distraction from the real threats.

For half an _ahtrix,_ he considered going up in his uniform rather than bothering with his armour, but then he remembered Shepard. _Mabul,_ why had he gotten in her face about wearing armour in her apartment? Now, he wouldn't even be able to sit and play _armiliteria_ without armouring up.

He paused at Oraka's station on his way to the forward hatch, listening to the navigator complain about having a human and an asari on the _Normandy_ all the way through decon and down the docking arm. Saren greeted them with a nod, his attention focused on the asari, Samara, and the elevator.

Just as Garrus took a breath in, victory settling heady and ripe over Shepard being late, the elevator rang out. _Tarc._ He turned toward the elevator as its bright, interior light lit up the _Normandy's_ private dock. Shepard and her krogan partner stepped out, the two wrapping their arms around one another at the threshold.

Despite not knowing much more than general things about either humans or krogan, the depth of their friendship and affection couldn't appear much more plainly. So why then her dalliance with Saren? Were all humans so fickle in their relationships?

Before he had more than a second to register Saren's movement, the captain hurried past, heading toward the elevator. As much as Garrus hoped that Saren merely hurried to greet the newest member of the team, the captain had returned to the ship the evening before smelling too strongly of Shepard to leave any doubt as to their involvement. Garrus labeled the serpent that slithered through his guts as concern for the captain's professional reputation. Saren's involvement with Shepard could well end his career. Turians hadn't been a part of the galactic community long enough for cross-species relationships to be well received within the hierarchy.

Saren gripped the krogan's hand, thanking him for his assistance over the past couple of days, and in the days to come. For his part, the krogan—Urdnot Frulk if Garrus recalled correctly—didn't look any more excited to investigate the world of Justicars than he had the day before.

"I'll miss you," Shepard said, her voice thick with phlegm, "and I'll call every day that I can." She hugged Frulk again and then held him at arm's length. "Be careful, and don't murder Mordin, no matter how crazy he makes you." She chuckled and then kissed her friend's cheek before releasing him.

Saren and Shepard watched the krogan get on the elevator, turning to face one another the moment the door closed.

Saren chuckled and extended his hand. "Good morning, SI Shepard," he said, his mandibles betraying him with a high flutter before he clamped them tight against his face. Other than the single slip, nothing in the captain's posture or expression gave away any hints to help Garrus solve the mystery of their involvement.

Shepard clasped Saren's wrist. "Good morning, Captain Arterius." A low whistle blew between the investigator's lips as she turned to look at the _Normandy_. "I've been too busy trying to hurry your people onto a shuttle to take a good look at her until now. Good, dear and fluffy lord, isn't she a beauty? I can't wait to get aboard her."

Saren stepped up next to the SI, leaning into the railing. "There isn't another like her in the entire galaxy."

The truth of that settled uneasily in Garrus's gut. And they were inviting aliens aboard her with a license to snoop into every corner.

Shepard grabbed Garrus by the proverbial fringe as she leaned in to whisper in Saren's aural canal, "So, Captain, am I allowed to be affectionate?" He heard her whisper. "You know … when we're alone?"

"Come, we're fast approaching our departure window." Saren nodded toward where Garrus and the others waited, then whispered back. "I'd be disappointed if you weren't. I've had private quarters made up for both you and Samara in the cargo bay, but I'd also be disappointed if you used them too frequently."

The heated rumble of subvocals beneath Saren's words set an entire nest of _netichiks_ loose beneath Garrus's plates. Why couldn't he just dissolve down into the dock plating or succumb to hysterical hearing loss?

Fortunately, when the captain continued, he'd returned to a more professional tone. "One of the crew will show you down there once we get through the formalities."

"Thank you, Captain." Shepard stepped away from Saren as they approached Garrus. "Good morning, Spectre Vakarian." She offered her hand, a cloud of pheromones nearly choking him.

"Good morning, SI Shepard." He clasped her wrist and met her eyes: they practically sparkled with a good humour that challenged him to let go of his issues with her lack of personal boundaries and discipline. Letting out a quiet sigh that Shepard didn't react to, but made Saren grin, he said, "Welcome aboard."

He looked away from Saren and the captain's new distraction. They'd better just keep everything a lot more private once on board. Everyone would be able to smell their attraction, of course, but they'd also pretend to ignore it. It was more than a social courtesy; it amounted to the only way to survive in such a formal, stratified society and on such a small ship.

"Since we're all here, let's get underway," Saren said, looking pointedly at Garrus, clearly wanting him to take over the pre-mission formalities.

Nodding a quick acceptance, Garrus looked to the non-turian members of their team. "It's tradition to pay tribute to those whose sacrifices brought us through the trials that led us here." He nodded to Nihlus who passed out small, platinum tumblers emblazoned with the _Normandy's_ name. The boat's COB splashed a talon's worth of brandy into each one.

"The ritual of _benenavis_ dates back before the written word," he continued to explain. "It releases the dead so they do not follow the living into the next journey and asks the spirits to guide the crew during the coming mission." He lifted his cup. "Private Richallian Jennus." Glancing at Kandros, he nodded, encouraging her to offer her thanks.

The cabalist raised her cup, saluting with her other hand. "To the _kresat fresactis_ of the 212. You will add honour and courage to the spirit of our unit."

Garrus opened his mouth to begin the benison for the upcoming mission only to close it again at a soft sound from Shepard. Looking her way, he cocked a brow plate in question, annoyance bubbling up to burn in behind his heart. "SI?"

Shepard held up her cup. "With your permission, Commander?" When Garrus nodded, the annoyance cooling to respect, she said, "Armando Bailey and Venir Ridgefield. Rest in peace, gentlemen, I'll see it finished."

"To the dead, may they know peace." Garrus led the toast, tossing back half the liquor before bowing his head for the moment of reflection. "May the spirits that guide us grant us wisdom and honour in the battles ahead so that our actions reflect favourably upon those who came before."

The team toasted again then finished off their drinks. The alcohol burned with a thick sweetness that settled his gut as he met Shepard's gaze and nodded. She'd shown respect to her lost and to turian tradition. He possessed enough self-knowledge to admit when he may have been wrong about someone. Still, enough time wasted. They needed to get to Therum and figure out what new level of _buratrum_ Anderson had thrown the galaxy into.

* * *

Garrus stood at the galaxy map, entering the calculations to get them to Therum via the shortest route. The relays didn't all connect to every other destination, but rather a select few. Some—the primaries—only connected to one other system, so what should be a simple, straightforward process sometimes made him question prothean sanity. He didn't turn toward the door on the starboard side of the CIC, able to tell who approached even before the door opened. Each species walked with a signature cadence and tread.

"Commander," SI Shepard said, stepping up next to the ramp, "you've got an amazing vessel here. I doubt I'll live to see her equal."

He grunted his thanks, continuing the calculations, a task that became more and more difficult to concentrate on as she hovered just below him, watching. At least she didn't speak, adding annoyance to failing concentration. When he entered the course, he turned to look at her.

"Is there something I can help you with, Senior Investigator?" Dismounting the ramp, he stopped to face her friendly smile.

"Actually, I wanted to know if I could assist the _Normandy_ and her crew in some way? I prefer to be useful and keep busy rather than stand around until you need my gun." The smile faded as she looked around. "I have an engineering degree, so I'm certain I could be of some use there." After a moment of hesitation, she shrugged. "I can keep the Mako purring like a really massive, metal kitten, but frankly, that won't take up enough of my time to keep me out of trouble."

 _Tarc_ , the woman made it really difficult to dislike her. Garrus gave her a faint smile, then nodded toward the door down to the crew deck. "Come with me, I'll introduce you to the Chief Engineer. If he has a use for you, I'll allow it."

She grinned but gave him a formal nod. "Thanks, you'll appreciate it." One eyebrow lifted toward her hairline, the tiny gesture assuring him that he would indeed, appreciate keeping her busy.

Neither spoke until they reached the elevator down to the cargo bay. Inside, Shepard stood at parade rest just outside his reach and slightly behind him. Had she read up on turian social cues? It appeared she had.

"And I thought the Citadel elevators were slow." Shepard sighed as the cargo elevator crawled down a level. "Do turians have any time-filling songs? Or am I going to need to teach everyone '99 Bottles of Beer' and 'There's a Hole in the Bottom of the Sea'?"

Garrus glanced over his shoulder to find her watching him with a mask of innocence hiding an expression so pleased that he could only describe it as that of a _tryllic_ lounging in front of a warm _caman_ with a belly full of _brekna_. "My first cycle in the academy, I roomed with a _torin_ who'd grown up in a trading colony. His best friend was a human who taught him both of those songs and a few others." He grinned and shook his head, turning front as the elevator stopped. "Thought I'd kill him after the second month of listening to him sing 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat' every time he got nervous."

Shepard chuckled. "Yeah, that's a justifiable killing. I would have let you walk." She followed him from the elevator and around to the door into engineering. "I've heard some crazy stuff about this drive core and the stealth system."

Garrus pressed the door control, a tingle of pride racing along his nervous system. As much as he worried about uneasy allies seeing the pinnacle of turian engineering, he couldn't help the pride he felt showing her off. Yes, the humans had cooperated on the design, but the fact remained, the _Normandy_ remained turian.

He stepped over the threshold, the half-dozen engineering personnel snapping to attention.

"Executive Officer on deck," the Engineering Chief Lilihierax Vaarin called, snapping a smart salute. "Commander Vakarian." The engineer looked past Garrus's shoulder, a huge smile sending his mandibles fluttering. "Shepard? Dear spirits. No, it can't be Nimble-fingers Shepard."

A delighted sort of gasp and squeal tore over Garrus's shoulder. "Li?" Shepard sprinted past him, Lilihierax meeting her halfway across the floor and sweeping her into a hug that lifted her a half metre off the deck. "I can't believe it. When you stopped messaging me, I thought … " She embraced the engineer around the neck. "... well, I thought the worst had happened."

The chief engineer set the human down, giving Garrus an embarrassed nod to acknowledge the impropriety. "Apologies, Commander. SI Shepard and I go back over a decade. I studied on Earth for a time, expanding my knowledge of alien engineering. She and I were lab partners all the way through. Tore down an old corvette and rebuilt it."

Shepard blushed and nodded, deferring to Garrus. "Apologies, Commander. Li … I mean Chief Engineer Vaarin and I kept in touch via messages since we graduated. He stopped replying without word a couples of years ago, and … " She bit her bottom lip and glanced back at Li. "... well, I mourned a lost friend for a long time."

Slipping back behind Garrus, Shepard shrugged. "Sorry for behaving inappropriately, Commander."

Garrus cleared his throat and shook his head, dismissing her apology. "An understandable reaction under the circumstances," he replied and turned to face her. A thread of empathy wove through the myriad of complicated reactions Shepard provoked. "Do you still wish to work in engineering?"

Shepard's gaze moved past him to the drive, a wide smile spreading across her face. "Oh yeah … I mean, yes, sir. She's a beauty. It would be my honour to take care of such an amazing lady." Her eyes looked to the chief. "There are no hard feelings. I understand classified assignments, been on a few in my time."

Another surprise. Garrus turned to face the engineer. "SI Shepard has asked to help out on the _Normandy_. Can you find a use for her down here?"

Li nodded, stiffening to parade rest. "Yes, sir. She's a talented engineer; I'll be able to bring her up to speed by the end of shift."

Garrus backed up a step, addressing Shepard. "There's a pre-op briefing in the comm room in six _orhans_. You're familiar with Urdnot Grunt?"

The woman met his gaze with a solid stare, all business. It helped ease the discomfort that the gleam in Lilihierax's eye sparked in Garrus's gut. "Yes, sir. I've known him for nearly a decade." A wry smile tugged back one side of her mouth. "He's young and can be a bit of a handful when he gets enthusiastic, but a hell of a good guy to have at your back in a fight. He's loyal to a fault, and dedicated to the justicar cause."

Garrus considered the options for his op. Surely Urdnot Grunt knew they were coming thanks to the C-Sec officer, but better to over-prepare than take chances. "Please, contact him prior to the briefing and gather what intel you can on the site and any enemy incursion on the planet." His brow plates lowered. Therum remained a human planet, and even with council approval, it might smooth the road to ask the planetary council for permission.

"I can introduce you," Shepard offered, taking a step toward him. "The captain as well. The krogan are a private people, they hold kinship—blood and oath—sacred, but move very little outside their clan circles."

"How do you fit into that?" he asked, aware that he pried past his right. She didn't stiffen or show any sign of offense, so he pressed on. "Is it because of your friend? The C-Sec SI?"

Shepard nodded. "I've stood behind him at _Birinc Qan_ for years, shed blood for the honour of both Frulk and clan Urdnot. I'm family." A slight smile curved her lips, but it seemed more sad than anything. "They're more family than my own blood kin." A sharp swallow and the smile died, replaced by a stoic, unreadable expression. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. "If I introduce you, and you take up the fight at their side, you'll find no stronger ally than Urdnot."

Garrus nodded "I'll meet you in the comm room an _orhan_ before the briefing. There are communication protocols I need to brief you on as well." He headed for the door. "Thank you, SI Shepard." His mandibles twitched as their eyes met just before he stepped out. "Good luck."

She nodded and turned to Lilihierax. "Where do I start, Chief?"

Garrus let out a long breath, his gut settling as he crossed the threshold, the door whispering shut behind him. Shepard might work out better than he anticipated: a bridge between turian traditionalism and the rest of the galaxy. Her dedication to the mission couldn't be questioned, and he didn't doubt her intelligence, instincts, and skills. So … he sighed … despite his misgivings, she might prove a good addition to the team of a Spectre trying to wedge his people onto the galactic battlefield.

* * *

Garrus turned away from the vid screen as the image of Urdnot Grunt disappeared. Shepard pegged the young justicar with precision, and Garrus feared more for the safety of the _Normandy_ once they brought Grunt aboard more than for his people during the mission. The krogan seemed the sort to charge first and consider explosive decompression later.

"He needs a strong hand," Shepard said, as if she'd read his thoughts. "But he's as solid as they come under fire. He has to be with Wrex as his mentor: there's no one who beats on his recruits like Wrex. If they survive the first year, they could turn aside an apocalypse."

Garrus let out a long sigh and sat at the seat to the right of the captain's. Shepard impressed him once again when she moved to a seat nearest the door. As someone with no place in the hierarchy, she could claim no other seat. That she knew and respected it … he fast approached a place where he needed to admit the flaws in his first impression.

"He might well have an apocalypse to avert unless we get ahead of whatever Anderson has planned." He relaxed down into his chair. "We need to know if Anderson is manipulating the ardat yakshi, or they're manipulating him." The tangled knot of adversaries tied itself in another loop.

"And where do the lystheni figure into this?" she asked, her expression morphing to something he thought might be nausea. "According to what Mordin told us at the meeting, we could be facing some seriously advanced organic tech. Much worse than you found on Aephus." The left side of her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth. "We have no idea what the lystheni have become, or are capable of becoming. We don't know what Anderson's monster is."

Garrus nodded, wincing at the way she gnawed on her lip. No turian would do that … or could. "The beacon vision showed the sky black with them, vortexes of energy tearing people apart, but more than that … " He closed his eyes, pulling the horror forward, forcing himself to look into it, like staring into the sun. "... it tore the energy out of their bodies. More. It ate their essence, leaving nothing but empty husks behind."

Shuddering, Shepard let out a laugh as bitter and terrified as Garrus felt. "Sort of wanting to be back in my crappy apartment, gnawing on a chicken right about now." A more genuine smile played over her lips. "Oh well, I wanted to get out among the stars, find adventure."

Garrus smiled, her jest easing the tension tying the muscles between his shoulders into knots. "Your people have a saying for that, don't you?"

"Yeah." She sank into her chair and crossed one ankle over her knee. "Be careful what you wish for." A shrug rolled her narrow shoulders. "Also, we have a curse: May you always live in interesting times."

Appropriate for such an optimistic race, and one doomed to face constant disappointment. Strange that in all the centuries humanity voyaged through the stars, they refused to accept the truth that the universe and whatever powers ran it had stacked the odds against peace in favour of conflict. Spirits knew, they boasted more than their share of conflicts throughout history.

"A curse disguised as a blessing." He chuffed and nodded, turning toward the door as it opened, Saren, Samara, and Nihlus entering. "A fitting one, if we don't end up killed by Anderson's inability to tolerate boredom."

(Yay! A new chapter. Garrus is such a grump. I love it.)


	17. Chapter 17

**Warning for grotesque horror elements.**

 **Torin** \- Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

 **Tarin** \- Tarini plural. Female turian of the age of majority (15)

 **Nais** \- Asari. Naisa - plural Asari over the age of majority (40)

 **Qisan** : Krogan (pronounced kee-sahn) Male after undergoing the rite of passage

 **Sikah:** Krogan ritual knife boasting an obsidian-black, serrated blade made from the tooth of a thresher maw.

 **Therum Orbit (1236 Earth Standard Time)(While Garrus is about 6 metres away, burning holes through her armour with laser glares.)**

Shepard grinned at her finished work as she donned her armour. Instead of creating a more tastefully appropriate camouflage pattern on the dark khaki material, she'd carved up a small sponge and printed gleefully irreverent happy faces everywhere. As much as she loved her new armour and found living in it easy enough, the deep, dark rebellious place inside her needed to see Vakarian's reaction to a hundred faces grinning at him during battle. It might even have the unexpected side effect of freaking out the lystheni a little. Anyway, couldn't hurt to try.

Trying to keep her nerves at bay, Shepard checked and rechecked her belt pouches to make sure she'd packed everything she needed. Extra water: check. Meal bars: check. Healing, decon, and repair nanites: check, check, and check. When she knew she couldn't justify checking them again without looking like the terrified FNG she was, she turned her nervous obsessivity—was that a word? If not, it should be—on her weapons, making sure she'd installed her ammo mods properly. She'd never used a sniper rifle outside of a range or the Armax, but she must have impressed Captain Arterius with her skills, because he'd assigned her a rifle so sexy all she wanted to do was take it back to her cubby hole of a sleeping space and rub all over it.

"Ready?"

She glanced over her shoulder at Vakarian and nodded, choking on a startled laugh. Could turians read minds? It wasn't as if she'd know if he had. She swore his face never changed expression. Ever. Sighing, she said, "As I ever will be." She swung the rifle over her shoulder, hanging it on her back, then checked her spectacularly gorgeous pistol and _sikah_. Grabbing her helmet, she hung it from the back of her belt, then jammed the boonie hat down onto her head. Time to go. Adventure awaited ...

… or horror ...

… probably both …

… maybe even a horrific death. Now, there was an appealing thought.

She shook off Vakarian's offer of assistance and swung up into the Mako, taking the seat behind the driver's station. If she ended up staying on the _Normandy_ , she'd beg someone to teach her how to operate the massive machine. Downside of going into C-Sec without a stop in the Alliance military first: a complete lack of knowledge in driving tanks and blowing shit up wholesale.

"Buckle in, the first step is a long one, and if Therum is like Aephus, we're in for a rough ride," Vakarian said as he stepped past her, squeezing through the narrow access to the cab. He took the pilot's seat, looking back through once Kryik sat at the nav position, moving out of the way. "We can land the _Normandy_ , but it leaves her vulnerable. It's just easier to land in the Mako."

Shepard grabbed the harness. "You're just going to dive out the ship's back door?"

"Oh, spirits, yes," Kandros crowed. The _tarin's_ golden eyes focused on the turret console, telling Shepard that the gleeful voice sparked with excitement over the weapon, not the impending death-drop out of the _Normandy._

The _tarin_ caressed the controls. "Aren't you a beauty? No gun too big." She sat, swinging the seat around like a little kid on a swivel chair. "Bring on those lystheni bastards now. Boom!"

Samara hopped in, nimble and assured in a way that made Shepard want to answer the merc's polite nod with an emphatic middle finger. No doubt, thanks to her father's DNA, Shepard had been born about as graceful as a giraffe on roller skates. She really only discovered grace during one activity, and nope, not fighting. Fighting, she just managed to make her awkwardness work for her. Usually.

"Everyone ready?" Garrus called back.

The small troop compartment closed in around Shepard, the metal barrier between her frail body and the vast nothing of space thinning until it seemed as though a harsh breath might tear it. Heart thumping a quick rhumba in her chest, she looked to each of her squadmates. They possessed a laundry list of reasons to fear what awaited them down on the planet; they'd faced it before. Yet, they strapped themselves in, calmly going about their tasks.

Across the compartment, Samara crossed her arms over her chest and gripped her harness. Hmm, good idea. It couldn't hurt to brace herself. Shepard mirrored the merc's position.

"Closing up," Lt. Cmdr. Kryik called, sidling between Shepard and Samara.

Shepard sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes closed. Right then, she couldn't remember the reasons that she wanted to accompany these lunatics. They threw APCs out of perfectly sound ships.

"Hey, Nimble-Fingers!"

Shepard's eyes sprang open at Li's shout and turned to face her old friend. "What? You're holding up production here, buddy." _Thank the dear and fluffy lord for that, by the way._

Kryik stopped pulling the hatch shut while the chief engineer ran up the ramp from engineering.

Li leaned through. "You're forgetting something." The chief engineer held out a long, tightly-wrapped, homemade cigar. "You can't go into a long grind without one of these. It's bad luck."

Shepard laughed and leaned out as far as her harness allowed, snatching the cigar from his talons. "Thanks, Li."

The turian sobered. "Be careful down there, Shepard."

She sat back in her seat, straining to keep a smile on her face as the dread behind his frown dropped a frozen boulder into the back of her throat. She choked it down and shrugged, an uneasy twitch of one shoulder. "I'm a cop … how bad can it be compared to a multiple homicide?"

* * *

 _I want to go home._

Shepard sidestepped around the huddled form of a man dressed in rags, the body contorted and broken, shoved into a narrow crack in a massive boulder. Shepard glanced around, but didn't see any sign of another person, alive or dead. "Why would anyone go to such lengths …?" The end of the question powered out. She didn't expect Kandros to answer her anyway. Damn, she'd seen a lot of fucked up shit in her time, but this ….

She stepped closer, the air pressing down on her—unmoving and fetid—the heat overwhelming her armour's cooling system until sweat rolled down her back and between her breasts. As she leaned down, tendrils of soaked hair dripped onto her forehead. The smell …. It took every ounce of her training to keep her hand away from her face and on her weapon. Well ... her training and the oppressive terror locking up all the tiny muscles between her vertebrae.

 _Focus, Shepard. This is what you do._

Setting her neural frame to the task of documenting every facet of the crime scene, Shepard obeyed her internal command, turning her mind to the task of figuring out what happened.

"Was that an environment suit?" Kandros whispered, her voice so thin it broke in places. She stepped around Shepard, her long legs coiled and ready to leap. She sniffed, her mandibles working for a moment before she reached for her helmet. "This place smells like the ninth level of _buratrum_."

"It's the sulfur," Shepard replied, trying to convince herself more than Kandros. Definite traces of shit, decay, and the various other indignities of death slithered through Therum's natural stench. She nudged the man's shoulder with the muzzle of her assault rifle. Enough blood pooled—crimson in the pockmarks and crevices of the rust-brown rock—to confirm the man's death, but the planet practically cackled with an evil-clown-twisted-funhouse feel that didn't lend itself to taking anything for granted.

When he didn't jump up and grab her, she crouched to examine the scene. Bloody handprints covered both sides of the large crack, but not so much on the exterior. "This is bizarre," she whispered, more to herself than her partner.

"Why?" the _tarin_ crouched next to her, peering at the body. "Someone stabbed him a hundred times then stuffed him in the crack. Case closed."

Shepard splayed her fingers and leaned forward, her hand hovering against the rock wall without touching it. "Yeah, but if I'm shoving him in, I have to brace myself. There would be more bloody handprints on the outside of the rock. Most of these are on the inside, almost as if …." The words trailed off as she looked down at the blood pools. None of the ones further away from the body were smeared. "I'd have to kneel, and I'd be pushing the blood all over the place with my lower legs. The whole exterior is too pristine."

Kandros stood, shaking her head. "No way. You're not saying he did this to himself, are you?"

Shepard twisted to look up. "Only one way to know for sure." She stood and stepped carefully to the left hand side of the crevice. "Help me pull him out." Rolling her shoulders a little to both settle her armour and shake loose the fingers crawling up her spine, she leaned down and grasped his wrist and ankle.

"Commander," Kandros called into her comms, "next time you get CSI Therum on your team. I can't believe I'm going to do this." She bent over, grabbing hold of the man, and helped Shepard lift him loose. The _tarin_ grumbled into her comms the entire time. No doubt, updating Vakarian, but Shepard remained focused on listening to the story the body had to tell.

Rather than stab wounds, most of the man's environment suit and the flesh beneath it bore slash marks, most of those along the left hand side of his body. Checking his right hand, she took note of several deep, smallish cuts in the baby finger and meaty pad just below it. Huh. They and the shape of the marks in his skin didn't look like knife marks.

"Help me turn him over." She rolled him onto his right side and stopped at the bright clatter of metal on stone. Swiping the sweat from her forehead and top lip, she leaned over him, picking up a half metre long piece of right-angled steel. Both ends boasted ragged, sharp edges. "Our murder weapon."

Kandros cursed in turian when they got the man over onto his front. Gagging, she stood and backed away. "I didn't sign on for this. As a soldier, you just don't play with the bodies. You shoot them and move on."

"Dear God," Shepard said, the words a slanted sigh that knotted in her throat. She looked up at Kandros. "Here's your answer." When the _tarin_ just shrugged, Shepard waved an inviting hand along the man's back. "If you're being stabbed by someone crazy enough to slash you with a bar like this, do you stand there and take it, or do you run?"

A little sound rattled in Kandros's throat as if she found the idea of turning and running inconceivable. "I suppose," she said after a pause, "if I was human, I would run."

"Right." Again she gestured at the man's back.

Kandros's mandibles spread, and she sucked in a quick breath. "There are no wounds on his back."

"And he has wounds on the side of his right hand where the sharp edge of the steel bit into him." She set the bar of steel on the man's back and stood. "I could well be wrong, but it looks like something drove this man into a frenzy, and he stabbed himself then wedged himself into that rock." Her neural frame indicated the scans had finished, and declared the estimated time of death at 0229 Earth Standard Time.

" _Tarc_." Kandros backed away as if the corpse carried the black death. "This planet licks a dead _drellak's_ ass. I'll report to the boss." Kandros lifted her hand to the side of her helmet. "Good news, Commander. Our dead human stabbed himself about fifty times with a piece of angle iron."

Shepard shuddered at the _tarin's_ flippant tone, knowing it smoothed over terror, and shrugged her assault rifle into her hands, palms slick with sweat beneath her gloves. They'd walked into a nightmare so much worse than what happened in the council chambers. The source of that truth remained elusive, dancing around the edges of her vision in flickers of black shadow, but she knew it to be truth nonetheless.

The commander rumbled in reply. "We've got more victims inside the compound. Some of the dead appear to be suicides, others tore each other to pieces." Vakarian sounded exhausted, bone dry and brittle, aged branches rattling in a November wind. "Meet us at the Mako. Don't bother to stop unless you find anyone alive. We'll notify Therum Planetary Security and let them conduct any investigations."

Despite opening her mouth to argue that they needed to figure out the who, what, and why of it, Shepard clamped her teeth shut on the words. On that rotted carcass of a planet, she wasn't a cop surrounded by the familiar—almost comforting—chaos of civilization's dark side. No … right there, right then, death, ripe and insidious, wore a feral mask. On Therum, all she could do was run fast and far, find what she came to find and get the hell out.

Why in the name of God would she want to do anything else? She met Kandros's eyes, the _tarin's_ stare comforting, almost empathetic. That empathy allowed Shepard to take a full breath and nod. Soldiers. Both over-faced, both scared and lost but also strong and capable. With the other at their back, they'd get through.

The assault rifle settled in her hands, and she set out along the path, back straight and rigid, jaw clenched. She could do it … she could finish the damned mission and get home.

Shepard charged over the blood-soaked ground and scrambled into the Mako. Vakarian, Kryik, and Samara already sat in their places, the atmosphere in the vehicle sharp and fragile, a brewing storm. Shepard collapsed into her seat, her stare seeking out the others … her safe ports … her anchors. The cockpit divider hid the mental state of the two turians, but shock obscured the asari mercenary's sky-blue skin beneath ashen clouds.

God, she wished she could go home and curl in next to Frulk: safe and loved. Surely his massive arms would be able to hold the horror at bay.

Kandros hopped in, pulled the hatch closed, and took her seat, a silent, invisible cloak hiding her earlier reactions. Still, she met Shepard's gaze with a bracing nod; they still had one another's backs, even against the storm.

No one spoke, the electric, crackling hush over the vehicle as it passed through the far security gates and rumbled on. The silence held through another dead compound and two tunnels.

"The road's blocked," Vakarian called back. "Landslide. Looks like we're on foot from here." He powered down the machine. " _Normandy_ , ground team leader checking in. We've been forced to abandon the Mako two kilometres out. We'll radio for evac from the main site once we've recovered Urdnot Grunt and his discovery. Over."

"Understood, ground team leader." The captain's voice settled Shepard's tangled insides like a comforting hand pressed in the center of her spine. She closed her eyes, letting the few words wash over her as he continued, "We'll pick up the Mako and be awaiting your call. Stay safe. Over."

"Understood, _Normandy_. Ground team out." The engine rumble faded and Vakarian half-twisted, half-stood to squeeze through the access way. "Scans still aren't showing any lifeforms in the area, but stick to a three metre spread, keep sharp, and cover each other." He took a deep breath. "Let's get this done and get off this _mabul_ planet."

Shepard unbuckled her harness and cracked her neck. She needed to calm the hell down, find that place of detachment she used in her work and just be a fucking professional. Growling deep in her throat, she stood and followed the squad out the hatch. The moment she hit the ground, she dug the cigar out of her vest and clamped it back between her teeth. Time to move.

"We're coming up on the archaeologists' camp," the commander announced a half-hour later as he lifted a fist to bring them to a halt. He activated his omnitool while the rest of them turned to watch their flanks. "Just up this rise. Still no signs of life."

Shepard let out a long sigh and dug into her vest for her water. The road, while free of the enemy, posed a steep climb over rough terrain that left her legs shaking like a freakin' newb. She removed her cigar, clamping it between her fingers, and took a long drink.

The orange glow above his arm died. "If we're going to meet resistance, it'll be here or in the mine. On Aephus, we encountered the reanimated remains of the colony's dead." His gaze latched onto Shepard. "You have incendiary ammo?"

She nodded and took another drink before holding her bottle out to Samara. "Your report said fire and explosives were all that took them down?"

"And they spit acid," Kryik confirmed, his mandibles dropping in almost comical disgust. "If you get any on you, decon the area immediately. It eats through armour in seconds."

"Sounds wonderful." After taking the bottle back from Samara, she offered it to Kandros, talking around the cigar. "Water? Or will drinking out of the same bottle cause some catastrophic allergic reaction?"

The cabalist snatched the bottle. "I think half that allergy stuff is crap to try to make us seem weirder and more foreign than we already are." She drained it and passed it back. "Thanks."

Vakarian nodded ahead. "Let's get this over with." He swallowed hard, his entire upper body undulating with the effort, the only crack she'd seen in his armour to date. And thank the dear lord for that crack. She'd begun to think she'd done fucked up when she joined the mission. Knowing that the carnage affected him as well … it helped. A lot.

Despite bracing for the worst … so pretty much an entire herd of huskified humans and asari … nothing—not even the unfortunate fellow who shoved himself into the rock—prepared Shepard for what awaited her in that camp.

"Dear spirits," Kryik whispered, his knees giving out a little before he caught himself.

Shepard stepped around the wall of turians on point and froze solid, right to the core despite the sweat soaking her underlayer. She stumbled sideways, only stopped from hitting the ground by slapping an arm out against a crate. "Holy hell," she whispered, struggling to get her feet under her. "What the hell is coming after our galaxy?"

Taking a deep breath, she swallowed, slamming down all her barriers. Professional dammit. Regardless of the horror strewn before her, whatever caused it wasn't just coming, it had arrived, and they needed every scrap of information to fight back. Pushing off the crate, Shepard bit down hard on the well-chewed end of her cigar and set her neural frame to work. "Scanning and recording."

"Oh no, I can't take any more 'forensic wondergirl'," Kandros called, her voice thin and pleading. "Don't make me touch the people who tore their own faces off." As if to reinforce her resolve, the cabalist edged toward the mine entrance. "There are no asses left here to kick, Commander. Let's just get this justicar and his book then go find something that needs killing."

"I think everything we've seen since we landed on Aephus is telling us that this mission isn't going to be as straightforward as swoop in and shoot the bad guys," Kryik said, following Kandros to the ramp. He butted his shoulder against the tarin's: a turian show of support and affection that stabbed Shepard through with remorse and sorrow. How many times had Ridgefield given her that same bump at the end of a hard day?

No! No, she couldn't allow herself to go there. She just needed to do the damned work. She crouched next to a man who'd collapsed next to the railing he'd bashed his head against. "What the hell could make people do this?" Her neural frame flashed the scan details as it drew together facts and details. "Time of death was 0228."

Her breath froze in her lungs as she jumped up and ran to the furthest victim, an asari that oddly showed little damage other than blood pouring from her eyes, nose, and ears. "Time of death 0229."

"How long is this going to take, SI Shepard?" Vakarian asked. He'd migrated away from the carnage to stand next to Kandros and the LT. A few metres away, Samara crouched next to an asari, her head bowed as if praying.

"Scan the bodies," Shepard said, barking the order at them. "Find time of death and take brain scans of anyone who still has a relatively undamaged one inside their skull." Finished with her scan of the asari, she moved to another human, and then another.

After a half dozen, she looked up. "What are the times?" When Samara, Vakarian, and Kryik reported back, Shepard sat on her heels, the world taking a sudden dip further into the bizarre funhouse hell. "These people all died within a three minute time period, and so did the fellow we found down at the first gate. Something happened … it didn't pass from person to person like a virus or bacteria … it didn't affect some more than others, or skip people entirely." She swallowed what felt like her fifteenth boulder. "Something sent these people into a homicidal/suicidal frenzy at the exact same moment."

Pushing to her feet, she strode over to Garrus. "Could you ask the captain to contact the Planetary Council and see how widespread the deaths were? Please." She flipped an arm toward the mine entrance, her stare following behind, not wanting to imagine what lay beyond that portal. "We need to find what did this, and we need to know how powerful it is before we chance getting any closer to the source."

"A weapon," the commander said, his voice soft enough to remain between them. "You think they uncovered a weapon. One that could still be here?"

Shepard shrugged. "There's no sign of anyone coming in before us … no bloody footprints or sign of the bodies being moved." She walked over to the ramp and up halfway to get an overview of the scene. "No, we're the first here. We need to find Grunt, and we need to know how many people this weapon killed." Spying a datapad next to one of the bodies, Shepard hurried over to pick it up. It was a daily log of progress at the site, the entry halting abruptly at 0227. The cursor still winked at her from the middle of a sentence.

She saved the active entry, then stowed the datapad inside her vest. Removing evidence from the scene of a crime made the SI part of her brain twitch, but somehow, she doubted that the people on this barren hell would even get words spoken over them before they ended up scraped into some mass grave. Violent mass deaths didn't look good on shareholder reports.

The soft, musical murmur of Samara's voice drew Shepard's attention to the asari. Still wary of the tough, ancient warrior, she crouched an arm's length away. "Samara? Do you have any idea what happened here?"

The merc whispered over the body for another second, then looked up at Shepard, her eyes black as death. "They awoke a darkness older and blacker than the void between stars." The asari's skin paled another shade, the black flickering in her eyes. "Hunger and madness. Hunger … madness! It will consume even the stars themselves." Then, as if someone flicked a switch, Samara blinked, blue irises replacing fathomless black, and shook herself. "I'm sorry, Shepard." She stood. "You asked me a question?"

"Samara?" Shepard slid one foot back so that when she stood, a good metre and a half separated them. Wary, waiting for the switch to flick again, she backed up another pace. "Do you remember telling me that the archaeologists unearthed a darkness as old as the galaxy?"

The asari frowned and shook her head. "I do not." The square angle of her jaw clenched a couple of times, and her eyes narrowed. She shook her head and took a step back from Shepard. "This entire planet screams." For a second it looked as though she was going to clap her hands over her tympanic membranes. "All these people … such pain."

Ah what the hell …?

Shepard stepped forward and clasped the asari merc's shoulder, her grip tight and hopefully registering as compassionate. "Come on, let's just keep moving. Maybe it'll be cooler underground."

"Agreed." Samara spun away from the contact and strode for the mine. "This place will paralyze us … trap us in despair if we remain too long. And cooler would be welcome."

As she watched the _nais_ walk away, Shepard wondered if Samara's eyes had reverted to bottomless pools of obsidian.

"Shepard!" Vakarian's shout dragged her back from the edge of that unwelcome precipice. Long legs covered the ground in three strides. When he stopped beside her, she swore he let out a sharp snap of electricity. "The _Normandy_ can't raise anyone on the planet. All comm lines are either open and dead or unanswered."

"Did they scan?" She nodded toward the mine without waiting for an answer. The entire planet was dead. "Let's get this done. I'm not leaving Grunt here …." She kicked the rest of that sentence out of her head.

"If he's still alive," Vakarian grumbled, finishing it for her. Damn him. Her foot lifted of its own accord, aiming for his flat backside, but then he clapped a hand down on her shoulder. "Krogan are tough." He strode toward the others, strong and purposeful. "Nihlus, you and I have point. Kandros drag. Everyone stay sharp." He mounted the ramp. "I know it's been a long, hot climb, but we're on the downslope now." With that, he palmed the door control and entered the mine.

Choking on her anger, Shepard followed, his words reminding her of the sweltering air. "Thank you, again," she muttered.

Falling in behind Samara, she stepped over the threshold just ahead of Kandros. Somehow, even without becoming friends, she felt a strong, trusting bond with the turian cabalist. Although she might just be kidding herself, she thought Kandros felt it as well.

As they tromped down a massive culvert, the echo of their boots rebounding from every direction, it felt as though they delved into the center of the planet. A series of metal catwalks and cargo elevators led from the entrance down to ground level, at least a hundred metres below.

 _And fuck if it isn't hotter down here …._

The sheer size and majesty of the cavern stole Shepard's breath. Surely the miners hadn't created the space. Patches and pieces of wall showed ornate tiles that gleamed in the low light, subtle green and gold. Along the roughed out ceiling, pocked by collapses over the millennia, the remains of vaulted ceilings carved into the rock assured her that while the Alliance might have uncovered the ruins in their mining, the archaeological wealth certainly outstripped the mineral wealth. The entire way down, Shepard just stared.

Kandros nudged her from behind as the last elevator's doors opened. "Come on, time's—"

A roar shattered the subtle rumble of magma flows and creaking metal, the sound jagged and crazed, tearing at her heart with serrated edges. She'd never heard a krogan utter a sound anything like it. Tearing along the catwalk, she ran out far enough to see the length of the cavern. Another roar, that one sounding like echoing gunfire tore through the air, the concussion enough to shake dust from the ceiling and railings.

"Shepard, cover!" Vakarian yelled, racing after her. "He's crazed and armed."

Shepard slipped on the damp steel, her knee letting out a yelp as it clipped one of the railing uprights. Scrambling and twisting, she managed to keep one foot under her and ducked behind the railing. Down at ground level, Grunt charged out of a narrow passage on the far wall, his shotgun in his hands. His claymore belched out a couple of rounds, tearing chunks of rock from the walls and sending the entire squad ducking for cover.

Shepard turned to face Vakarian as he crouched next to her. "Let me go down ahead of the rest of you. He knows me, I might be able to get through to him."

The commander stared at her for long moments, his expression raising all her hackles and then some as he appeared to be deciding the wisdom of sending a civilian into danger.

"I'm a C-Sec officer, and I've smacked around a thousand krogan in my time. Just let me deal with him." When the turian just kept staring, she grumbled and rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Commander, just trust me for five minutes. If he crushes me into paste, I'll be more than happy to make a public statement to say I was stupidly wrong, and you were heroically right."

Vakarian's head twitched toward the ramps down, but he remained stubbornly silent. Shepard just chuffed and ran down the catwalk to the ramp. "Hey, Grunt, it's Shepard! Wrex sent me to find you and see this discovery of yours."

"We'll have your six if you need us," Kandros said, taking Shepard's cover.

"Grunt!" Shepard stepped down off the end of the ramp, the stone crunching beneath her boots as she started across the chamber. The krogan showed no sign of hearing her, still shouting inarticulately at the shadows, his shotgun backing up any threats he made as it bit into the walls, sending rock chips flying.

"Dammit, Grunt." Swooping down, Shepard bent and scooped up a large stone. "Wake up, son!" Winding up, she chucked the stone straight at his head, wincing a little when it hit with a sound 'thock'.

The krogan spun, his tirade falling silent as crazed eyes latched onto her. After three, breathless seconds, Grunt let out a blood-chilling roar and charged. Shepard braced herself and held up a hand to stop Vakarian and the others from opening fire. Grunt would stop. He'd never hurt her. As he closed, she prayed. Surely he wouldn't hit her. He couldn't be that far gone, could he?

She backed up a step, the hand trembling while it held the others at bay.

At the last second, Grunt hit the brakes, sliding to a halt just before he would have broken every bone in her body. He clutched at her, his hands strong enough to turn her bones to meal, her arms screaming in protest. She shuddered, not because of the grip bruising her flesh black, but because of the ancient, screaming terror in the justicar's eyes.

He released her with one hand, lifting it to tear at his scalp, gouging the softer flesh between his growing plates. "They're inside my head. Claws, Shepard … claws digging into my brain. I have to get them out." He abandoned his scalp to grab her with bloody fingers, shaking her. "Help me. Get them out."

Shepard offered him a careful smile. "Easy there big guy. We're here to help you." She gripped his massive head between her hands, his skin blistering hot even through her gloves. "Focus on me. Don't look anywhere but into my eyes." When he managed to do as she commanded, she sighed. "Okay, slow down your breathing and tell me what happened here."

His calm didn't last to the count of three before he pushed into her again. "You don't understand their hunger," he hollered, his face pressing tight against hers, his breath as hot as the vapours off the lava. "I felt it in the black while their fingers crawled through my head." He threw her aside and backed away from them, his Claymore appearing in his hands once again. "There's no end to their hunger, and it will consume the stars without being sated."

What the hell? She studied the justicar's eyes, searching for signs of blood rage, but no, she couldn't pass it off that easily. When he pulled away, she let him have all the space he wanted, just making sure to stay between him and the others as she heard their footsteps approaching from behind. Even in blood rage, or whatever the hell this was, he recognized her as a friend. The others … just targets.

He backed away, the gun lifting to a dangerous level.

"Grunt? Keep your eyes on me." Shepard stepped forward, lifting her hands to show him they remained empty. The krogan's voice … his words … sounded nothing like the _qisan_ she knew. His usual manner of speaking made his name almost too ironic. Sated? She doubted he even knew what it meant. Not because he lacked intelligence, but because he preferred to be a person of action, not words.

She shook her head, clearing away the racing thoughts. "Grunt." Forcefully, that time. "Grunt! Talk to me. What happened? Why are you so terrified?"

Despite his fear, the krogan sharpened at the emphasis she slapped on the last word. He straightened a little, his jaw clenching. Thank the dear and fluffy lord. She let out the breath she'd been holding and the claws sunk into her spine relaxed a little. No krogan would allow an affront to his courage, particularly a justicar. At least that much of him remained intact.

Grunt snarled, the fear flickering in his eyes, a roaring blaze burning away his control. "They're almost as old as the galaxy. They've consumed it hundreds of thousands of times, but their hunger never stops, and it's driven them so far beyond mad." He rushed in on her again, slowing a little as the rest of the team drew their weapons. "They're all true," he whispered, pressing his face against her ear. "All the stories about what hides in the dark. All true but so much more terrible."

Shepard held out her hands. "Hey, Grunt. I get it, man … you're scared to death, and right now, so am I, but we can't risk staying here. We need to move. Can I take the book?"

The krogan stepped toward her. "I saw it. I saw the beast in my head. Darkness and hunger. The researchers … they screamed and ran. They pounded on their heads and tore at their eyes. And the monster laughed." He squinted as if trying to see the memory through a heavy fog. "I couldn't see all of it, couldn't make it out, but it blacked out all light. The beast's belly split open and these things poured out. I heard the people screaming … no … I heard the researchers screaming … not inside my head. It wants them scared." Wild blue eyes latched onto her face for a moment. "They taste better when they scream." Manic, the krogan charged her, stopping just before making contact. "I shot the voice and ran, Shepard. I ran and I never run."

Heart pounding so hard she swore the rest of them could hear it, Shepard gripped his armour. "It's okay. I would have, too. Hell, Wrex would have run." Reaching up, she stroked the soft hide between the plates around his aural canal, a move that never failed to calm Frulk. "We're here to pull you out, big guy. You're safe."

Suddenly the bashed in heads and chunks of missing flesh from the victim's faces made sense. They'd been trying to blind themselves to the horror and drive it from their minds.

She allowed a heavy, comforting silence to fall between them, loading it with saccharine levels of succor by humming a lullaby she remembered from her childhood. Grunt stiffened rather than backing away from her touch, so she continued to stroke the same spot until his breathing eased from high, quick gasps to actual breaths. When she figured he possessed enough control not to attack and shatter most of her bones, she lifted his chin so he stared into her eyes rather than her tits.

"Better?" She tapped his nose, letting out a mocking chuckle when he growled and snapped at her finger, certainly not playful. "We'll get you back to Wrex as soon as we can, but until then, you'll be on the _Normandy_ with me and all those badass turians back there. We'll take care of you. Okay?"

He roared and shook her hands off. Shoving her away, he took the route she'd prayed for, getting all 'tough guy doesn't need to be coddled or babysat'. "Get off me. I'm fine. Come on, I'll show you the vault."

"I haven't heard a better plan all day." She slammed her fists down on his shoulders. Bumping her head against his crest, she said, "Now, show us what you found then we'll kick this bastard planet in the quad and scram. This place creeps the living fuck out of me."

The krogan gave three, deep, almost-convincing laughs, but when he turned to walk away, his knees buckled. Jumping in, Shepard caught him, his massive body trembling so hard it was a wonder he stayed on his feet at all.

Grunt pressed his eyes closed and tapped his crest against the top of her head, taking a few breaths before he spoke. "Come on, little pyjak, the vault is over here. That's where we found the book, and where the voice came from."

Shepard tried to chuckle, to validate his weak excuse for a teasing insult, but it rolled over her tongue and fell from her mouth like a half-chewed cockroach … the juicy half. She let him pull away from her support, watching to make sure his feet settled under him before turning to the rest of the squad.

After two steps, Grunt turned back and nodded toward her cigar. "Have another of those?"

Shepard removed the well-chewed wrap from her mouth and twisted off the wet end. "You owe me about a hundred." Still, she passed it over.

"Thanks." He clamped it in the corner of his mouth and continued on.

"This vault doesn't feel ominous at all," Vakarian said, stepping forward at last. He nodded at Shepard on the way by, but when he spoke, he sounded as though the words tasted of chalk and mold, maybe even moldy chalk. "Well done. Thank you."

"My pleasure, Commander." Answering his saltiness with a shit-eating grin, she mopped her face and jogged forward to take point with Grunt. "Shooting him would have only pissed him off."

(Yup, this story isn't dead either. Thanks for sticking with me. Hugs)


	18. Chapter 18 - Drowning in Shadows

**Last time on Mirror Effect: Garrus, Shepard, and the squad headed to Therum to find a book Justicar Urdnot Grunt believed provided a history of the Ardat Yakshi and the Leviathan. Instead, they discovered a slaughter, hundreds of people who killed themselves in horrific ways. When they found Grunt, he was in a panic, screaming and tearing at his plates.**

 **Precorin** \- Damned

 **Torin** \- Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

 **Tarin** \- Tarini plural. Female turian of the age of majority (15)

 **Tarc** \- Vulgar expletive equivalent to shit.

 **Matrula** \- Mother **Matrulic** \- maturnal

 **Morumplacus** \- Restless spirit, undead, ghoul. From ancient turian folklore.

 **Ungentira** \- A large warm blooded, cat-like predator native to the high mountains of Palaven. It is neither mammal or reptile, but has aspects of both, featuring a heavy, plated hide along its back, and a rich, luxurious pelt along their underside. Extremely dangerous.

 **Targismar** \- The most vile curse in the turian language. Has its origins in turian prehistoric rituals involving the disgracing and execution of enemies. The shortened **Targis** is used most often.

 **Tar'za'liik** \- Ancient turian god of storms. His roar was thunder so loud that it was said to drive whoever heard it insane, and his lightning so bright and fierce that it could turn anyone who displeased him to ash at a touch.

 **Therum (1629 Earth Standard Time)(Right after Shepard calmed Grunt down enough to keep him from ripping Garrus's arms off.)**

As someone who prided himself on listening to his instincts, Garrus approached Therum like a _torin_ hunting _ungentira._ If the _precorin_ planet tried to kill them, he'd be prepared. Still, no amount of extra planning or scan detail dispelled the tar-flow searing the length of his spine with lightning or the claws carving bloody runes into the inside of his skull.

S _top, you're a_ _Spectre. Act like it._

Hefting his rifle, he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. Pain and superstition didn't win battles. All-too-real monsters rampaged through the galaxy. With the stakes higher than they'd ever been, he couldn't afford to let weakness guide his decision making. Despite his history and his wishes, he was a talented soldier and veteran of some of the toughest _tarc_ the galaxy threw at sentient life.

Garrus looked around the large cavern, trying to distract himself from the pain inside his skull. Shepard still whispered to Grunt, trying to keep the justicar calm and functional. Kandros and Kryik poured over his omnitool readouts. The Spectre cursed under his breath. Distraction method: failure. Check. Instead of easing back, the pain built second by second, until he swore he should be bleeding from his eyes: his old nemesis finally taking its due.

Hunted by headaches from birth (as his mother told it), he'd endowed them with personality, intent, and hatred. Just after his second name day, he told his _matrula_ that the monster in his head wanted him dead. That day, the doctor installed his first neural frame. It cured his headaches—or maybe not considering their return—but he always knew the monster lurked between his synapses, waiting for a chance to take that perfect headshot.

Garrus ground the heel of his hand into his eye, sighing as the pain receded enough for him to concentrate. At first, he tried to blame his misgivings on Shepard and her ridiculous, smiley-faced armour, but she handled herself well, her fear controlled, her skills more than adequate. Not to mention her investigative talents proved invaluable as the mystery deepened.

No, Shepard didn't deserve the blame. The moment they touched down on Therum, the tar burst from the shadows to drown the bleak landscape, a river dripping down through the volcanic ash clouds. The further in the squad pressed, the heavier the build up of that tar became, pooling in his cowl until it lapped at his aural canals, the old monster begging entry.

When a wall of rock forced them to abandon the Mako, he found some relief in movement. Of course, the respite lasted only until they reached the research camp, and then met up with the crazed krogan justicar. Justicars routinely faced the most terrifying beings in the galaxy, so for something to terrify Grunt to the point of tearing at his own plates …. It didn't excite Garrus to delve any further..

If only they'd find something to shoot or throw grenades at.

After making sure Shepard had the krogan well in hand, Garrus stepped around the SI and her charge, making his way to the threshold of the tunnel into the chamber. Nothing about Grunt's declaration that 'they taste better when they scream' encouraged the new Spectre toward overly intrepid behaviour. He'd let the krogan go first, and judge the situation based on Grunt's reactions. Yeah, the krogan and then Shepard, just in case she needed to play krogan whisperer.

He peered down the tunnel, talons tightening on his rifle as he tried to get some idea of what to expect. Nothing but rubble and volcanic stone awaited them. Well, and the shadows, naturally. Always the shadows.

The shadows crept out of his head, staining his reality just as they had the night they came for his father, slithering out from beneath the furniture and under the cracks in the doors. Tar-black tongues licking, they scented out meat ready for eating and swallowed it down whole. They saw Garrus that night, those abominations made of all things hidden from the light. They marked him, grinning hungry grins, and he knew, once they escaped his skull, he'd never see them coming.

The Spectre cleared his throat and grumbled. The temple. He checked his rifle—a reflex—then focused on the damned mission. Whoever built their temple in that rumbling mountain either didn't know or didn't care about volcanism. 'What if the temple predates the volcano?' the whisper drifted from the superstitious, terrified corner of his mind. No. He locked those dark hues behind a door of logic. Nothing could have survived the shifting earth and geysers of liquid rock.

" _I shot the voice and ran, Shepard. I ran, and I never run."_

A krogan admitting that he ran … it twisted Garrus's gut into a half-hitch. Why couldn't they just have landed on Aephus, picked up the damned beacon, and taken it back to the Citadel? Coffee and cake run … shake out the wrinkles in the new ship. Right.

The walls shifted in the fluid light, the tar clawing and climbing the stone, the dead clambering toward the darkness. He watched them with mixed parts terror and curiosity, certain he saw asari, turian, and krogan _morumplacus_ amidst the older, unrecognizable ones. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to stab at the shadows with his other senses, ones less easily tricked into terror.

The cavern vibrated, the air humming … impatient. It impacted every centimetre of his hide—subvocals carried on the wind, a thousand silent voices screaming—before settling into his teeth, the roots shrieking inside his jaws. His bones took up the cry, joined quickly by his plates. Resonating. Yes, that was it! The cavern was trying to tune him to its resonance. He cocked his head, trying to understand the eerie chorus. How long ago had those voices ended in a mortal scream?

"Commander Vakarian?"

Garrus jumped, Shepard's voice dragging him from his thoughts. _Tarc_ , he'd been staring into the murky darkness for who knew how long _._

The SI stepped up beside him, Grunt tight on her four. "Is everything all right?"

Doing his best to pretend he'd been gathering data rather than staring into the void like an _obluvis_ , he looked to Kryik and Kandros, asking, "Do you hear or feel anything?" He glanced up into the dark, vaulted ceiling of the chamber and flicked his mandibles. "A vibration or …?"

Nihlus shook his head despite his mandibles clenching tight against his mouth. "I'm hearing how thin the walls are and how much magma is pressed up behind them." He tipped his head toward the tunnel. "Let's grab this book and bolt."

"Commander?" Shepard took a breath to speak.

Garrus cleared his throat, cutting her off. "Go ahead SI Shepard, we've got your back." The last thing he needed to hear in that moment was the human saying she heard and felt what he was clearly imagining.

"Since we've found nothing but dead people, I'm not really worried about what's behind me." Shepard shot him a baleful glare through the soot and dust. "Oh, I see how it is. Send the aliens into the jaws of death first."

Garrus opened his mouth to defend the decision as tactical rather than racist, but then he saw the teasing glint in her eyes. A low growl rumbled through his second larynx before he could choke it off, but she merely raised her eyebrows and turned to follow his orders.

Watching after her, Garrus took a deep breath. Going into that tunnel didn't feel like entering the jaws of death, it felt so much worse. It felt like walking into the past. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds around him.

"Kryik, Kandros, go ahead, I'll walk drag." Instead of following, he waited for them to get far enough ahead that the lack of breathing and other sounds of life allowed him to sort through layers of noise.

 _Tarc_ , he needed to get a new neural frame, to hell with the consequences of not letting all the damage heal. Even with his new visor's assistance, his missing neural frame left him blind in one eye, deaf in both aural canals, and numb. Well, not quite, but it sure felt that way. Frustration locked up all the muscles along his spine. How could he function as a capable commander with that handicap?

"Hey."

Garrus looked up, brow plates slamming down over his eyes. "Shepard?" He laced his subvocals with reprimand for disobeying his orders. Judging by the way she flinched, at least some of it registered.

She opened her omnitool. "Sorry, I should have thought of this earlier, but I've had all my mental resources focused on keeping myself from screaming and running away from all the fucking ghosts trapped in here."

Ghosts? Why would she say ghosts? Before he asked, a tiny window opened on his visor's HUD. The screen-in-screen showed him staring at Shepard, but enhanced by bandwidths stretching into infrared and ultraviolet. "What's this?" he asked, letting out a sigh of relief. Spirits be praised, he could see.

She keyed in a series of commands as she said, "Part of the C-Sec neural frame package is a narrow-band transmitter so our captains can monitor ops. I've just routed the visual to your visor. If you want sound as well, I can send you that file when we get back to the _Normandy_. Figured the visual would be disorienting enough without two audio feeds."

Garrus increased the size of the screen and studied the image, the extra detail tugging free another sigh. He glanced past it to give Shepard a grateful nod. "Thank you."

"All part of the service." She spun and trotted back up the tunnel into the abyss beyond. The smiling faces printed all over her backside seemed to laugh, mocking him. Exactly as she planned, he felt sure. His punishment for insisting on her wearing armour aboard the ship.

He swallowed the spike that sank into the back of his throat, the annoyance cooling. Saren was right. Her teasing and prodding came from a good heart, so while he might never stop grinding his teeth, he could forgive and move on.

Time to focus on the mission and get out. He shouldered his rifle and opened his omnitool. Maybe they could get some data on whatever drove the dig team to kill themselves in such brutal ways. Focusing on the interface's orange glow helped push the dread to arm's length. He clenched his teeth. Spirits, he hated feeling as naked and plateless as a newborn, a feeling that began the moment he saw that monstrous ship on Aephus and had yet to abate.

Garrus's omnitool dropped, his arm hanging numb and limp from his shoulder, as the tight ceiling of the tunnel vanished, soaring into darkness. He walked up Kandros's heels, the _tarin_ frozen into a gasping statue, her eyes fixed on the twisting, knotted sinews of glowing rock—or was it rock?—climbing the right hand wall.

Stepping around the cabalist, he stumbled over Kryik, the lieutenant also motionless but for his breathing. Only Shepard and Grunt continued into the center of the space. Garrus followed, allowing Shepard's eyes to take in the room's details, translating the grand horror of the space into a picture as small as his brain—and his spirit—felt in the moment.

The walls glowed, carved figures writhing and twisting in eternal torment. Near the floor, he could see the vague shapes of asari struggling, clawing their way out of the tar shadows, reaching toward the ceiling. As the carved reliefs evolved upward on the bodies of those below them, they gained more and more recognizable features. At the apex of the chamber, modern-looking asari reached out in supplication to the monstrosity in the center.

Like some sort of terrible chandelier, one of the monsters from Garrus's nightmares reached down, its outstretched limbs glowing from within. The sickly yellow-brown light caressed Garrus's hide even through his armour: the diseased touch of a lover cast in eternal stone. He shuddered, shame sinking talons into the base of his skull. That light, it oozed over everything good, spreading filth over everything clean, turning truth to lies.

The newly-minted Spectre's stare dropped to the floor. There, the layer of dust left by time and volcanism scarcely marred the surface's deep void of reflection. There, nobody could see the lie. Yes, in that emptiness, oblivion whispered sweet promises of escape. Promises he never knew he yearned to hear before they blew cool, peaceful air through the temple's madness. No more killing, no more war, no more pretending. No more trying to save a galaxy that didn't want to be saved.

He took a step toward Shepard, to take shelter in the woman's light and warmth as Grunt had, but his boot slipped, dumping him onto one knee, his hands braced against the mirror-polished black. Glimmers of metal embedded in the floor captured his eyes, hypnotizing him in the flickering light. Dizziness set the entire room spinning, swooping like starlings protecting their nest, the nightmare hanging above him leaving his limbs and guts trembling.

 _No more lies, pretend Spectre, brave legacy of Invictus, noble sole survivor of Oma Ker. Admit that luck keeps slipping you clear of the butcher's knife. It won't miss forever, and when it finds you, you'll welcome it as a saviour … as a lover._

Starlight in the black depths glittered off sleek carapaces, their lines beautiful in their horror. Brave legacy of Invictus: that impossibly dark night so many years gone, consumed by flames and screaming. His _mari_ clawed at him, her talons shredding his night robe. _Pari_ … he needed to get to _Pari,_ but the shadows … the shadows ate him and Garrus's screams joined the colony's lament as his _mari_ dragged him into a closet.

"Stay here." She left him in the dark, tiny stars of flickering light escaping through the door. And the screaming. He shrieked himself hoarse and ripped his talons from his hands clawing at the door, but nobody came. Nobody but the shadows.

" _All alone in that terror, your sleeping robe soiled and soaked,_ " the tar-shadows whispered. They seeped from the floor to cover his talons, climbing his gloves. " _Welcome back, little Vakarian. Welcome back_."

"Holy hell." A sharp whistle blasted from Shepard's lips, breaking the spell. She backed into him and held out a hand to help him up. "Are you all right, sir?"

Garrus let out a quick, hard sigh, and pushed himself up, ignoring her hand. Already unbalanced, he reeled under the deluge of swirling visuals transmitted from her frame.

The SI spun, her eyes on every corner of the room as if she expected attack from all quarters: keeping her head on a swivel. "We need to get out of here," she said, her voice sour with fear. She glanced at him, holding his gaze for the briefest second. "You feel it, don't you? You hear her … them, I mean?"

"Spectre Vakarian." The asari mercenary interrupted his denial, appearing beside him—spirits, how had he forgotten Samara was there?—her pastel skin camouflaging her amidst the dim, brown light. Large, black eyes scanned the room before she nodded, her every movement as ageless and eerie as the temple. "This place and the tome it protects have hidden here for millions upon millions of cycles, long before the ardat yakshi. It has enthralled so many lives … enslaved so many minds. We should leave and seal the tunnel behind us. Let the universe forget it exists. This place killed my daughters."

Garrus shuddered. As if hallucinations weren't bad enough. Why'd she have to give the damned place a murderous will? And the black eyes … did the temple have its claws sunk into her? He lifted his rifle, just in case.

"Tens … hundreds of millions of cycles and deaths," Grunt agreed, edging closer to Shepard, taking shelter against her side. "So much death. They dragged their thralls here to be touched by their god." He hooked an arm around Shepard's neck. "Once touched, never the same. Never a wife or father, husband or daughter. Never whole." The massive justicar crouched and pulled off his gloves, pressing his bare hands to the floor. "Every grain of sand ... every rock and jewel gorged and overflowing with their screaming, and their horror and their blood." Grunt moaned and began to rock, the sound saturated with madness, rising and falling as he threw himself back and forth.

Garrus stumbled back a couple of steps. He needed space, some room to create an envelope of good, stoic, turian warrior. The almost … what? reverence? … awe? in the krogan's voice chipped away at the Spectre's precarious hold on sanity and calm. He forced himself to focus on the wideband images relayed to him from Shepard's frame. That tiny screen showed reality through a filter of sane normalcy. The rifle in his hand was real and sane. More than a decade of soldiering wouldn't betray him.

 _See, it's just a temple in a volcano. No_ morumplacus _, and no ancient evil. It's just a creepy as_ tarc _chamber. Stop creating monsters where there are none. You're not twelve cycles old._

Shepard bent down next to Grunt, and when she spoke, she'd calmed her earlier panic. "Come on. You're working yourself up into another panic attack and for nothing." She half-dragged him up, looking to Kandros, then Kryik, and finally Garrus. "This place has already killed nearly a hundred people today. Let's complete our mission."

The commander nodded. If they stayed much longer, one or more of them might end up bashing in their own skull. He strode over to the book, scanning it and its plinth before taking the risk of touching it. The book registered inert, its stand not so much.

"Kryik, I want detailed scans of this device and its emissions," he ordered even as he fastened dampeners to the book. No point taking stupid chances. He turned to ask Shepard to get Grunt and the book headed for the surface, but stopped when he saw her scanning the walls. Stepping closer, he focused on her POV. "What are you doing?" he asked, fascinated and a little nauseated by the swirl of colours in the small window.

Shepard let out a soft grunt, her head tilting in a half-shrug as she replied, "I had an idea. I'm always chasing down smugglers at C-Sec. They mask their cargos with specific energy frequencies, trying to trick our scanners into missing the heat signatures of slaves, trace radiation from weapons … that sort of thing." She adjusted the frequency of her optical sensors again. "Since this existed for so long but wasn't detected until the miners crashed through the wall, it had to have some kind of field protecting it." She swallowed, the gulp visible even in the shifting light. "I'd bet dollars to donuts that's what keeps whispering at me." She cleared her throat. "I mean, it's what has everyone on edge."

After another three adjustments, the walls began to pulse, almost like a heartbeat or ….

"Jesus pleasus," Shepard said and whistled. "This is … um … insane? Definitely not what I expected to find. The frequencies are off the charts, and my neural frame is registering them as theta and delta waves." Her fingers drummed against her tool's interface. "I feel pretty confident saying that the cave isn't sleeping, but it's the only way my tech can process whatever's down here."

The heartbeat began to thud beneath Garrus's feet, stronger, harder … the slumberer waking. The Spectre's pulse, already quick from adrenaline, deepened, a war drum hammering at the inside of his keel. He backed up a step, his shoulder running into the wall. He pressed his back against its solidity, less concerned with pooling shadows and writhing reliefs than whatever awoke beneath his feet.

"Gods don't die. They never die." Grunt's same, awed whisper drew the tar from the shadows, the air filling with sulfur and oil. "They just burrow deep beneath the surface and sleep. They sleep, and their dreams breathe evil into the galaxy."

"Sleep. Yes, sleep to contain their hunger. Only way. Otherwise, they'd consume everything."

Garrus's booted talons screeched as he spun on Shepard. "What?"

The SI shrugged, her perplexed expression answering him before she spoke. "Huh? What? You mean about the delta and theta waves?"

He lunged at her, gripping her armour in a fist that lifted her onto her toes. "No, you said sleeping was the only way to contain their hunger … that they'd consume everything."

She wrenched her armour from his grip, stumbling back until the wall stopped her. "No, sir, pretty sure I didn't." She adjusted her optical wavelengths to focus on visible once more, the heartbeat fading from the tiny screen on Garrus's visor. "And um … respectfully, we can wait to debate it until we're the hell out of here and aboard the _Normandy_. Things are getting a wee bit too intense down here." She winced. "Again, with respect, Spectre."

Garrus nodded. Shepard had the right of it. They needed to get out and save all debate for later.

Shepard picked up the book and wrapped a hand through Grunt's elbow, leading the way toward the tunnel. Garrus herded the rest of their group ahead of him, following the SI without looking back. If only his refusal to look behind him stemmed from confidence and strength rather than the certainty that something slithered out of the tar-shadows, reaching for his ankles.

Reentering the mine, Garrus let out a long sigh of relief, the bugs skittering beneath his skin fading to a tickle. Despite the sweltering heat from the open lava flows, the air refreshed him, a comparative spring breeze. Hopefully Shepard and Kryik's scans gave them something to work from … some method to combat the way the leviathan and ardat yakshi crawled into people's heads, turning them inside out.

"Hey, Commander." Kandros's tone sent Garrus's almost-recovered stomach plummeting down to slosh in his bowels. "I'm reading a big energy signature from behind this wall." She tapped at her omnitool. "Possibly even a lifeform." She hunched down over the tiny image. "Yeah, it's definitely a heat signature." Her arm falling to her side, the _tarin_ sidled up to the wall, then prodded it with a talon, gingerly, as if afraid to test its solidity. "But how the hell did they get in there? There's no opening."

"I'd advise caution, Commander Vakarian," Samara said. Stepping up behind Kandros, the merc placed a hand on the cabalist's shoulder, easing her back from the chiseled surface. "Can you get a clear scan of the species?"

Kandros shuddered. "It could be an AY, you mean? Damn." She waggled her head side to side, a weighing gesture that tempered her words. "But if it isn't? What if it's a member of the archaeology team who just happened to wander down the wrong tunnel and ended up stuck?"

Garrus wanted to launch another investigation about as badly …. He glanced toward the temple then over his shoulder. "Shepard, get to the surface and call for our pick up. Get the book out of here no matter what."

Shepard gave him a sloppy but genuine salute. "Will do." She nodded toward the mining equipment piled against a wall even as she set out. "I suggest using the industrial laser to cut through the wall and then just keep blasting if it turns out to be something evil back there." That said she raced up the ramps as quickly as she could despite dragging three hundred kilos of krogan behind her.

"That's actually a really good idea." Kryik walked over to the pile and lifted the tarp. He emerged a moment later with a large, handheld laser assembly and an even bigger grin. "I've always wanted to do this." He hitched it up, using a hip to help hold its weight. "Get back unless you want to get cut in half."

" _Tarc_ ," Garrus muttered. "Finally, something to shoot and I'm letting Kryik take the shot."

Keeping his eyes on the empty tunnel opening, the commander backed all the way to the ramps, giving the LT plenty of room for lack of experience with mining equipment. He'd taken his damage limit for a few months. Throwing a hand up to shield his face, he winced away from the brilliant light. Damn, he needed his frame back. A single thought could have blocked the glare.

For a few seconds, the wall appeared to completely ignore the laser, but then it let out a crack worthy of a frigate breaking through mid-winter ice. Shards sprayed out in wide-angled eruption, some of the smaller ones sharp enough to embed themselves in his armour. When the laser powered down, he uncovered his face and tugged one of the fragments free. _Targismar!_ The entire planet wanted to either drive them mad or kill them.

The Spectre shrugged his rifle into his talons and stepped around the LT, nudging Kryik on the way by. "Put the laser down, and be ready to back me up."

"This isn't rock," Kryik said, rolling a shard between his talons. "It's not pumice or obsidian either." The orange glow of his omnitool lit up the dust cloud. "It's some sort of organic resin combined with rock dust." He appeared through the settling dust, digging into his belt pouches for an evidence bag. "I'm taking samples for analysis."

"Stay focused, LT." Waving an absent hand to clear the dust, Garrus peered through the hole. Nothing but darkness, the chamber sealed off from the lava flows. Considering the day thus far, the absence of crazed ardat yakshi trying to suck his brain out through his skull felt like a victory.

He flipped on his rifle-mounted light and leaned in. What he saw took him a couple of seconds to process, being entirely unexpected and disturbing.

"It's a krogan," Kandros said, leaning heavily into the back of his arm.

"And a beacon like on Aephus," Kryik added, just as heavy and close on the other side.

Garrus rolled a low, subvocal warning deep in his throat. As if his nerves weren't frayed enough without them looming over him. "And suddenly I'm a _matrulic ungentira_ taking her cubs out of the den for the first time." He elbowed Kandros in the gut. "Stop hiding behind me, you're blocking my rifle arm."

After a couple of bracing breaths, he stepped through the hole. Three strides cleared the rubble, and he began to sidestep, his rifle trained on the beacon and its captive as he circled them. He kept his distance; one burned out brain per customer, thank you very much.

A krogan female and young, judging by the smoothness of her headplate. As he had during his beacon experience, she hung about a metre in the air, her arms stretched out to the side and her head thrown back. Unlike his experience, however, she showed no signs of mental or physical distress. If someone asked him to guess, he'd say she'd been placed in stasis.

Could the beacons do that? Maybe Dr. Chellick was right about the beacon on Aephus malfunctioning. If that proved to be true, maybe they could extract the krogan without anyone getting hurt.

"What do we do?" Kryik asked, closing to within a half-metre of the energy field. "We can't just leave her here like this." His mandibles flicked and then dropped. "Ready to leap in and be the hero again, Boss?"

Garrus chuffed, arching his neck and rolling his shoulders to cover a slight shudder. "Not my first instinct, no, but better me than someone else roasting their frame." He looked to Samara, hoping for some indication of the insanity level of trying to extract the krogan.

"An intact beacon could provide important intelligence," Samara added, grimacing as if the pragmatism of the words tasted foul.

 _Tarc._

Kandros stepped around him, keeping back. "We can't move it with its prisoner just … " She flipped her hand at the krogan in a helpless sort of gesture. "... hanging there." She chuffed. "Maybe we can find someone to turn it off." Glancing at him with an unsettled expression, she shrugged. "It gets us off the planet in five minutes."

After considering that option for a moment, Garrus shook his head. "We'd have to turn to the Citadel to find an expert on prothean tech, and that would mean endless red tape. The krogan might be stuck here for weeks."

"And she'd be walled back in," Samara said, the words brittle enough to grab Garrus by the fringe and drag him around. The merc pointed toward the hole. Where the broken wall had been ankle high when Garrus stepped over it, it now measured a half-metre or more. "It's growing up from the floor."

" _Tarc_." Kryik leaped to scan the new development with either manic dread or a really inappropriate excitement. "How is this possible? It really is growing ... and fast."

"If that _tarc_ is growing, that means there has to be something alive, right? Something producing it?" Kandros skated across the floor, talons lifting from the stone almost as quickly as they touched down. "Let's just get her out and go, okay, Commander?"

That settled Garrus's internal debate with a steel toed boot to the cloaca; they had no time to play it safe. Ridiculous heroics it was. Taking a running start from the back corner of the chamber, Garrus raced forward, planning his jump for the least amount of contact with the beacon's field.

His arm snagged the krogan, shoving her free before the field captured him. It gripped him, his body dangling, an endless stream of images flowing into his skull until it creaked, threatening to give way under the deluge.

At the far-distant border where blood-soaked wasteland gave way to flesh, then hide, plate, and armour, talons yanked at him. His squad, he realized, but the healthy beacon and its coherent message would not be denied.

" _Listen to us, heed the last words of a dead people. What destroyed us will come for you." A single voice made up of billions of souls wove through the images, a thin stream through history and horror. "The enemy is rarely seen, but everywhere, madness seeps up through the seams between sleep and waking, rock and water. They whisper between stars, and all fall before them, felled by flames and madness."_

Saliva flooded Garrus's mouth, tasting of maggots and meat, smoke and glass. Images flited past, insects so quick he caught only a blur of motion. His stomach rolled, threatening to turn the dust into sour-krellar-egg-protein-bar-puala-juice-laced mud. Dagger-like claws closed around his neck and his left arm, embedding themselves through the armour and beneath his plates.

" _Listen to us, for the enemy spares no one. They do not need weapons; they will never fire a shot or drop a bomb. They will turn your mind in on itself and when they come to feed, you will scream, but in the same heartbeats, you will open your arms wide, and you will welcome them."_

And then the claws tore him loose of the beacon's grip, the images vanishing beneath an avalanche of darkness and heat. One foot impacted the floor before it rolled and sent him sprawling on all fours. One breath wheezed into his lungs, then a second and he slumped onto one hip, waiting for the blood sprites to fade from his vision and feeling to return to his face.

"You okay, Boss?" Kryik grabbed him under one arm and hauled him up, supporting his weight.

Garrus groaned but nodded, his throat closed so tight that he knew words wouldn't happen any time soon. Instead, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He needed to grip his weapon tight, walk, and convince his trembling legs to carry him up the ramps and out.

Kryik held onto him for a few steps, until he remembered how to walk without stumbling, then abandoned him to help Kandros with the krogan.

He just grabbed hold of the banister up the side of the ramps when the floor began to tremble in earnest, an earthquake or eruption clearing its throat before it began to sing. Moving up the ramps hand over hand, clinging to the banister, he managed to speed up to a slow jog. The steady thump of footsteps on metal grating behind him reassured him that his squad kept up as the air lightened and the ground-quake deepened.

And then Garrus ran out through the mine door and down the ramp, sliding the last couple of metres. He looked up as he entered a large shadow, its source a surprise to say the least.

"What can I say?" Shepard hollered from the bottom of the _Normandy's_ ramp. "When you ask me to call for pick up, I call for pick up." She grinned and hurried toward them, taking Kandros's place under the unconscious krogan's right arm. "Glad to see it wasn't a squad of AY's waiting for you on the other side of the door, but we have no time for a party. The _Normandy's_ sensors read something under the temple." She boosted the krogan higher up her shoulder. "Our dreamer is waking. It's huge and it's climbing, so … run!"

As if the monster below took its cue from Shepard, the ground traded in shaking for heaving: the god Tar'za'liik and his lightning bursting forth from the planet core.

"Run!" Garrus hollered, his talons digging furrows in the soil as he spun, leaping for the ramp. The ground cracked, breaking apart like glass beneath his feet. Damn, a good ten metres remained between his squad and the ramp. Well, all but Kandros who bolted past him, jumping the last six or seven metres. He glanced back to check on the others. He needed to be the last on the ship.

"Stop looking back," Saren shouted from the bottom of the ramp. "Just run!"

Kryik and Shepard raced up beside Garrus, gaining despite their burden. Spirits, he really hadn't given the SI enough credit for strength and speed. He jumped, his attention focused on Saren Arterius as his gauge of success.

Talons closed around his arm and yanked, pulling him face down onto the captain. Landing keel to chest slammed the wind out of him, and he sprawled there, his paralyzed lungs heaving even as the ramp lifted them into the cargo bay.

"Vakarian?" Saren wheezed. He braced his hands against Garrus's chest and pushed, rolling the helpless Spectre onto the deck plating. "Spirits, you weigh as much as a krogan."

"I ... beg … to … differ." A staccato flurry of thumping hammered at the cargo bay floor.

Garrus finally managed a breath and pushed himself up.

"Shepard?" Beside the Spectre, Saren scrambled up off the deck. "You all right?"

The SI huffed a little, the thumping becoming uneven and desperate as her words faded to breathy whispers. "Little help?"

Garrus lifted onto all fours, all of the horror and terror of the day coming out in a single, rough guffaw when he saw Shepard's smiley-armoured legs sticking out from under the krogan female's bulk.

Saren kicked him, just a light tap with his boot. "Stop and help me lift the krogan off our C-Sec consultant before we have two patients." He offered Garrus a hand, pulling the still wobbly _torin_ to his feet when he accepted. "Good work down there, people," the captain said when Kryik and Kandros joined them.

Garrus took the krogan's right foot and together, they lifted her off the human. Shepard flopped over onto her side, giving a weak wave in answer to Saren's inquiry about her health. Taking his cue from the SI, Garrus sank onto a crate. Spirits, they'd made it out.

"It's not over yet, Captain." Scurra's voice interrupted Garrus's relief, the pilot's usual snark replaced by brittle fear. "That thing … it's following us … even though our stealth systems are active."

(A-N: Yep, this one is alive too. :D Hope you enjoyed poor ol' Garrus trying to deal with the temple of horror. *hugs and kittens*)


End file.
